Brother's
by SHolmes4
Summary: Random clips from when Sherlock and Mycroft where growing up along with some present day...  Pretty much insight into their brotherly relationship platonic  and some John stuff as well.  might have S/J if you squint... rating changed for drug use.
1. Food

Mycroft: 14 Sherlock: 7

"Eat it," the older boy instructed simply.

"No," the dark haired boy looked up coolly, crouched in front of what appeared to be a discarded pizza or maybe nacho's, on the pavement.

"Eat it," he instructed again.

"No, you're always hungry, you eat it!"

"Come now…for science."

"That only worked once," the smaller one huffed, "and you tricked me… mummy said that you can only eat ground found food if it's only been there for five seconds." He pokes the remnants with a stick. "Besides it's clearly been here for at least four days."

"Three," he corrected with a tsk, "And the five second rule is hardly anything to go by."

"You're forgetting that it rained," he peaked up from his curls at his brother's looming form.

"Indeed," he nodded, "However, you've failed to take into account the direction in which the wind was blowing in relation to the location of the building it's by."

"You can't possibly know that off hand, 'Croft," The seven year old stands haughtily.

"Sherlock, really…" Mycroft looks at him in slight condensation, "If you read the news paper, you'd know that information… also if you observe," He points up, "there's an awning."

Sherlock tilts his head back sharply taking in the offending object, before a petulant pout crosses his features.

Present:

"Eat it," Mycroft orders over the dining room table.

"Um… No," Sherlock replies evenly eyeing the biscuit that had fallen to the floor.

"Mummy worked really hard on this Christmas meal Sherlock, now eat it!" He steels him with superior stare.

"No," he replies haughtily, "And I believe Sylvia was the one doing the work."

"Now Mycroft, I will not have you ordering your brother about at the dinner table." Madame Holmes scolds mildly, Sherlock smirking in satisfaction, "Though I do wish you'd at least eat a little…"

"When's father coming back?" Sherlock asks, before taking a small bite of food.

"Not till tomorrow, cher," She replies dismissively, turning to John, "So I've heard you're a doctor, when you're not gallivanting about with Sherlock." She smiles warmly as her and John converse.

"Eat it!" Mycroft seethes over the table while Mummy is distracted, "Or at least pick it up."

"Fine," Sherlock snaps quietly, picking up the offending biscuit before chucking it at his brother's head.

"You are such a child, Sherlock, really," He rubs his head where he was hit, making sure not a hair was out of place.

"I am?" He asks credulously, "You're the one trying to get me to eat things off the floor again."

"Excuse me," Madame Holmes rises from her chair, "I'm just going to check on the dessert," She eyes her sons suspiciously as they are locked in an epic glaring contest.

John's not sure what happened in her brief absences from the dining room; but the next thing he knew food was flung, a scuffle ensued and Mycroft was sitting on an irate Sherlock.

"Get your over weight, immature, arse off me," Sherlock grumbled, flailing about.

"I'll have you know I've actually lost weight," Mycroft huffed.

"You obviously weigh more now than you did last time this happened," He huffed, trying to breathe under the weight.

"Now be a good Sherlock and eat the bloody biscuit!" Mycroft ordered shoving the bread at his brother's face.

John watched on, unsure of what exactly to do or even what to think about the scene playing out before him; it was all quite comical, really. That is, until Madame Holmes came back into the room.

"Mon dieu!" She shook her head before calmly going off on her now frozen sons, the litany of French pouring out of her.

It would have sounded quite lovely to the untrained ear if there wasn't clearly anger behind each syllable she uttered.

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><p>:)REVIEWS(: are much appreciated... Also this will prob be added to when idea's strike, circling around when Sherlock and Mycroft where growing up.<p> 


	2. Discount

Sherlock: 11 Mycroft: 18

* * *

><p>It was his job to keep an eye on Sherlock, much to his distaste. There wasn't much a 11 and 18 year old had in common, even if they where both extremely intelligent. It was mostly disinterest in the appointed task of keeping an eye on the younger boy that allowed Sherlock to run off. Mycroft wasn't worried, he knew his brother would pop up again eventually. Mummy entrusted him with picking up milk and eggs from the grocery and "baby-sitting" which was mostly to make sure that Sherlock didn't get into trouble and keep him occupied while she set up for the surprise party. Frankly he didn't care, the party its self was a waste of time; Mummy wasn't good a keeping secrets and Sherlock would have figured it out anyway.<p>

He paid for the items and headed out of the store, the familiar presence of his younger sibling joining his strides with his head down and his hands thrust deep into his pockets.

"I knew you'd show up," Mycroft stated as the pair headed down the street.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed after chancing a glance behind him.

"Sherlock?" My croft pauses looking at his brother as they keep on towards home.

"I know it's not your favorite thing, but... we're going to have to run." Sherlock informs him simply.

"What have you done?" Mycroft stops at the street corner, looking at his brother before looking down the street to see a beat officer being directed in their direction. "Honestly on all days... stealing Sherlock!"

"You coming or not?" Sherlock asks impatiently shuffling from foot to foot as the officer gets closer.

"Not."

"Fine," the younger boy huffs, turning on his heel to book it down the street.

"I'm telling Mummy," Mycroft informs the retreating figure.

"Sod off," Sherlock calls back turning down the nearest side street.

The officer approaches and Mycroft is all too happy to inform him just what streets his dear brother likely ran down.

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><p>:)REVIEWS(: are much appreciated...<p> 


	3. Invitations

When John got back from work, Sherlock was in the exact spot he was in the morning; curled up on the couch facing the wall, half a cup of tea gone cold and only one piece of toast instead of two on the coffee table.

"Productive day, then," John shakes his head as he hangs his coat up on the hook. "You fancy going out a proper meal?" He asks from the kitchen as he checks the edible contents of the shelves.

Sherlock remaining immobile breathes out loudly; John peaking back into the main room.

"You really need to get out, get some fresh air," He turns back to finish making his tea. "Some social interaction wouldn't hurt," he adds semi under his breath.

"Is that your professional opinion, then?" Sherlock asks coldly after a beat.

"What if it is?" John replies, crossing his arms at the separation of the kitchen. "It's unhealthy for you to curl up and die and every time there's a lull in crime, Sherlock." The dark haired man moves to speak laying on his back, but John cuts him off, "And I know you do eat when there's nothing on, but I think a nice jaunt out is required."

"Oh, how refreshing," Sherlock replies sarcastically. "Really John, it's always the same with you," He sighs starring up at the ceiling. "Are you eating? Are you sleeping? Are you in a mood again? Have you found a case? Blah blah blah," he motions limply with his hand.

"Don't you dare mock my concern," John replies indignantly from across the room.

"Your concern," Sherlock sneers with a sidelong glance at the shorter man, "Is misplaced."

"I think I decide where to place my concern, thanks."

Sherlock shakes his head, rising to his feet and glaring at John, "As you are not my boyfriend and certainly not my mother, or any other relation for that matter. I really cannot fathom how anything I do is a concern of yours. Now do be a good flat mate and leave. Me. Alone." With that he stomps off to his room, his robe flaring out dramatically before he slams the door shut.

"I'm your friend you robotic sod!" John huffs exasperatedly.

He was at complete loss as to what was bothering the other man. Sherlock was no stranger to such moods, but he usually took his frustration out on other things, this time was different and he attacked the nature of their relationship instead of just the walls.

Taking his mug of tea into the other room he sighs into his chair, racking his brain as to what's going on when he realizes he's sitting on something. John shifts pulling out two wrinkled envelopes, one red and the other a festive green. After further investigation he discovers that they are both invites to Christmas parties; one from Mycroft and one from Mrs. Holmes. It's no surprise to John that the invite is extended to him as well.

"Well that explains it then," John murmurs to himself, taking a cautious sip from his mug.

A few hours later, John is startled out of his doze by a full dressed Sherlock texting in the door way.

"I said we have a case; are you coming?" He asks curtly, irritated for having to repeat himself; regardless of that fact that John was clearly unconscious.

Blinking to fully awake, John hesitates for a moment, "Um, yes, all right then."

Once they return from the crime scene, an open shut domestic love triangle, John remembers the invitations.

"So about earlier," he starts.

"God… wasn't it obvious," Sherlock starts falling dramatically onto the sofa and starring at the ceiling. "I understand not seeing that your husband is gay, but your own brother. Lestrade is so obtuse, then again if he wasn't he wouldn't need me…" He sighs, returning to his original thought, "Unless of course the sibling relationship was strained, but that clearly wasn't the case based on the photographs around the flat and at the fact that…"

John shakes his head as he cuts off the tangent, holding up the invites, "So your mum's party is the Friday and Mycroft's is Sunday?"

"Hmm…" Sherlock looks over at the brandish stationary. "Oh, dull…"

"That's what the fit was about earlier, then?"

"Mhm…" He comments returning his gaze to the ceiling.

"I'm finally going to meet mummy Holmes?" John smirks trying to push buttons.

"It would appear so," Sherlock sits up facing the other man, "Attendance is required to both, unfortunately."  
>"We need to bring anything?"<p>

"Flowers or wine should be fine for mummy, it's the thought she's after," Sherlock states simply, stepping over the coffee table to stride to the kitchen.

"Right," John nods. "You going to bring anything?"

"My attendance is gift enough," he rolls his eyes. "Mycroft's is an ugly jumper, you should be fine," he states flippantly, "But booze is always appreciated."

"Now hang on," John huffs, turning in his chair to glare at Sherlock, "I'll have you know I don't own any ugly jumpers, Christmas or otherwise."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow at him poignantly before looking in the open a cupboard. "Please," he scoffs, "That ghastly one you wore last week, to the Jameson drowning, I think that will do nicely," He smirks. "The breads gone off," he states, slamming the cupboard door and striding out of the kitchen. "Don't bin it… never know when you need penicillin," He adds before retiring to his room with a loud slam of the door.

"The Jameson drowning…?" John questions aloud, realization hitting him, "That's my favorite one!" He snaps crossing his arms as he mentally berates his flat mate.

* * *

><p>Reviews are extremely helpful and appreciated :D<p> 


	4. No more Christmas

To: Mycroft

Christmas is canceled.

-S.H.

New Msg: Mycroft

You cannot cancel Christmas.

-M.H.

To: Mycroft

It's canceled.

-S.H.

New Msg: Mycroft

It is still Christmas,

Even You cannot stop it

From Coming.

-M.H.

To: Mycroft

I went to mummy's

And yours.

-S.H.

New Msg: Mycroft

As lovely as that was…

Christmas is happening.

-M.H.

To: Mycroft

I'm still sick,

Therefore

Unavailable.

-S.H.

New Msg: Mycroft

Lies brother, really :/

(I'm sure your _doctor_

Will see to your health.)

-M.H.

To: Mycroft

What are you

On about…

-S.H.

New Msg: Mycroft

I don't have time

For this.

-M.H.

To: Mycroft

Don't let me

Distract you. ..

See you next year. :)

-S.H.

New Msg: Mycroft

Mummy's going

To ring later…

-M.H.

To: Mycroft

.

-S.H.

New Msg: Mycroft

See you for

Christmas!

-M.H.

Sherlock huffs audibly before throwing his phone across the room irately, barely missing John.

* * *

><p>Reviews, suggestions, thoughts, ideas? Let me know! :D<p> 


	5. Death

Grand-mere died when Sherlock was 15, he had been at a sleep over when they got the call. He was picked up early that morning, sitting in an awkward silence trying to figure out what was going on. His mother was drawn; her eyes rimmed red as she refused to look at her son.

"What's going on?" Sherlock question from the passenger seat.

"We'll discuss it when we get home," she sniffed.

Sherlock dropped his bag on the table when they got in, looking around the room to find his father sitting stoically at the table.

"What's this all about then?"

"Why don't you have a seat, son," his father suggested, not making eye contact; his mother squeezed his shoulders as he sank into the chair.

"Sherlock," His father began as his mom took a seat beside him. "Your," he cleared his throat, "Grand-mere has died." He looks up at his son for the first time since he arrived.

"Pardon?" Sherlock asked dumbly.

"It's a shock," his mother offered, fresh tears springing to her eyes. "I spoke to her just the other day…" She sniffled.

"It seems it was a heart attack." His father supplied, taking his wife's hand. "She woke this morning and went to get ready when…"

Sherlock nodded, his eyes wide as he took in the new data, "Right, grand-mere is dead." He whispers, rising robotically before heading up to his room. He didn't cry until he was locked away in his room and curled up on his bed; staying there until the next morning.

"Sherlock," his mother knocked on his bedroom door. "Mycroft's here, we're going to family breakfast." She called, trying to coax her son out with the promise of a warm meal; but was greeted with silence. "Come, cher," she tried again.

Sherlock just buried himself deeper into his oversized duvet as a set of foot falls drew closer to this door.

"Allow me, mummy." The familiar voice whispered.

"We'll be down stairs," Madam Holmes nodded.

The door knob jiggled before the lock was popped, and the 22 year old Mycroft strode in. He took in the curled form of hi younger brother who was the same, yet so different from himself. With Sherlock, it was all or nothing. He could think or he could feel, but he was loath to do both because feelings weren't logical. Mycroft, on the other hand, felt things all the time, no matter how illogical, but was adept at concealing them; feelings where private after all.

"Sherly," Mycroft called.

"Don't call me that," was the gruff reply from beneath the wrinkled bedding.

"I know it's hard," he started, perching on the edge of his brother's bed, making sure not to sit on the younger man.

"Yes, and going to breakfast isn't going to chain anything," Sherlock huffed watery, "Now leave."

"No, I suppose not," Mycroft nodded, ignoring the command. "Family is important," he started, "Mother and Father are leaving tomorrow for France, to help arrange everything..."

With that, Sherlock flung the covers off his dark head, "They're leaving me behind?" He asks desperately.

"Don't be ridiculous," Mycroft smiles gently, "You still have a week of school to attend and it will not do well to miss it."

"I'm left with you then," Sherlock states and falls back onto his pillows.

"Yes, we'll fly out on Friday."

"I won't go anyway," he states, talking about school.

"Don't be so dramatic," Mycroft sighs. "I think we can manage a week."

"You think we can manage?" Sherlock snaps angrily, tears once again clouding his vision. "The only grandmother we have is dead, and you're sitting there trying to coax me to breakfast and a week of lessons as if this was just a favor for mummy," He glares at the older man, "Grand-mere is dead! Or did you not get that memo!"

"Do not misread my actions as apathy," Mycroft warns him softly.

"Get out!" Sherlock orders, curling up and facing the wall "Please," he adds brokenly.

"Just come to breakfast, Sherlock, that's all we're asking." He pats his brother's leg awkwardly and stands, striding to the door. "You weren't the only one who loved her, you know." Mycroft adds before slipping from the room.

Sherlock lays there for a beat, willing himself invisible as he sniffles into the covers listening to the stirring below. Sighing audibly he throws the blankets back and dresses slowly and meticulously for breakfast, catching his family by surprise just as they're about to pull out of the drive.

* * *

><p>Reviews, suggestions, thoughts, ideas? (anything you'd like to see) Let me know! :D<p> 


	6. Christmas Torture

AN: Can you guess who Sherlock is with!

* * *

><p>10:30 am<p>

New MSG: John

Where are you?

-J.W.

11:00 am

New Msg: John

?

-J.W.

11:25am

To: John

Shopping,

With the devil.

-S.H.

11:28am

New Msg:John

Right… And

How long till you're

done with the devil?

-J.W.

11:50 am

To: John

God only

Knows…

-S.H.

11:52am

New MSG: John

Clever. When

you say

Devil…?

-J.W.

11:54am

To: John

No no not

Mycroft, far

Worse.

-S.H

11:57am

New Msg: John

Worse!

-J.W.

12:00pm

To: John

These stores are

Torture, they're too

Hot and play horrible

Seasonal music.

-S.H.

12:02pm

To: John

Before you ask,

I believe you can

Figure out with

whom I am suffering.

-S.H.

12:04pm

To: John

It's mildly entertaining

Imagining you trying

To work it out.

-S.H.

12:07pm

New Msg: John

Shut it.

-J.W.

12:08pm

To: John

Clearly impossible

(via Texting)

-S.H

12:11pm

To: John

Why do people

Get mad at

Truthfulness?

It doesn't make sense.

-S.H.

12:14pm

New Msg: John

Bc you're

condescending

To them

-J.W.

12:16pm

To: John

I can't help my

Tone when people

Are stupid… it doesn't

Sound that way to me.

-S.H.

12:20pm

New Msg: John

Bc that's your nature. But

You have to watch your tone.

It haappens, there's

Just a time and place.

-J.W.

12:22pm

To: John

Dull.

-S.H.

12:30pm

New Msg: John

Hurry it up,

You said you'd

Be here.

-J.W.

12:32pm

To: John

I'm trying,

You think I

Enjoy torture?

-S.H.

12:40pm

New Msg: John

You are just being

Dramatic… right?

-J.W.

12:44pm

To: John

.

-S.H.

12:48pm

New Msg: John

Don't avoid.

-J.W.

12:55pm

New Msg: John

Sherlock! You

Better just be

shopping.

-J.W.

1:10pm

New Msg: John

WTF!

-J.W.

1:20pm

New Msg: John

If you aren't

back with in the

hour, so help me…

-J.W.

1:25pm

New Msg: John

I WILL call Mycroft!

-J.W.

1:27pm

To: John

On way. :)

-S.H.

* * *

><p>Reviews, suggestions, thoughts, ideas? (anything you'd like to see) Let me know! I'd greatly appreciate comments and Ideas, they help :D<p> 


	7. A sedative

AN: Just a heads up, the rating may change in later chapters...

* * *

><p>John really didn't want to have to resort to it, but his infuriating flat mate was leaving him no choice. It had been a long day surgery and he came home to a pacing Sherlock, no milk in the fridge and a bigger mess then when he left that morning.<p>

"When was the last time you slept?" John asked, knowing full well it had been at least three days.

"Hmm…" Sherlock hummed, pausing mid stride. "Oh, a week or so, but that's irrelevant."

"A week?"

Sherlock turns facing him, the fatigue fairly evident upon his features, "That's what I said, was it not?" He huffs, resuming his trek from one end of the room to another.

"You're warring yourself out," John informs him, "And if you keep this up, you'll be warring a hole in the floor as well."

"Yes, yes, we're out of milk," Sherlock waves him off, stopping in front of the table to delve more into the case file that was laid out.

"You're not even bloody listening," John huffs indignantly, "Right." He nods, grabbing his coat to head to the store.

He takes a breath before turning and heading towards the office of the elder Holmes.

"John, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" Mycroft's voice greets from behind his desk.

"He's driving me insane and if he keeps this up, the stupid sod is going to kill himself," John vents.

"I assume we're talking about my dear brother…" He drawls.

"Ya, who else… He hasn't slept in a week, Mycroft. I'd slip him a sedative, if I thought I could successfully trick him."

"I see," he nods pulling one of the drawers of his desk open. "Now you need to listen carefully…"

John nods in understanding, watching him carefully.

"This," Mycroft brandishes a small vile, "Is a sedative, fast acting of course, we don't want him to have time to counteract the effects." He hands if carefully to the other man.

John taking it carefully and observing the contents, "How will I get him to ingest it?"

"Oh, just make him some tea, with a smidge of this in it and it will do the rest," he smiles. "Act as natural as possible, however you will probably need to make a diversion of some sort… and of course lie."

"Lie…" He repeats still looking at the small vile.

"Really, Doctor," Mycroft shakes his head. "He will know you've been to see me."

"Right," John nods in understanding. "Thank you."

"Do let me know how it goes with the patient," he smirks as John exists the office.

He stops at the Tesco's and buys the milk, hoping that Sherlock will be too absorbed by the case to deduce that John had visited Mycroft.

"What did he want?" Sherlock greets him.

Mentally cursing himself, John does his best to remain impassive, "Who?"

"My brother, of course," he states leafing through a file.

"Another case or some rubbish," John lies, "I told him to sod off."

Sherlock smirks slightly before continuing his work.

"Tea?"

"Mhmm…" Sherlock replies.

John set about readying the tea, with the sedative of course, hoping this worked. Once it was set, John brought it into the other room. He handed the mug to Sherlock, seamlessly snatching the file out of the pale fingers.

"What's this case about then?" John asks, sipping his own tea as he looks at the file, "Suicide?"

Sherlock eyes him suspiciously for a second, his mug half raised to his lips. "Don't be dull, John, it's a murder," he sniffs the tea. "This isn't poisoned is it?" He raises a brow.

"Yes, Sherlock, your only friend in the world poisoned you." He replies sarcastically.

"It wouldn't be the first time." Sherlock replies snidely.

"Just drink your tea, Sherlock," John snaps, throwing the file down angrily. "Try to do something nice," he huffs under his breath as he sits in his chair and pulls out the news paper.

Sherlock looks at him, a little surprised at the outburst before downing some of the tea. John watches him, fairly pleased that he got him to drink it. The dark haired man takes another sip, tasting it before sniffing the cup again.

"Damn it, Mycroft." Sherlock shouts, fumbling over the clutter to the couch and promptly passing out.

* * *

><p>Reviews, suggestions, thoughts, ideas? (anything you'd like to see) Let me know! I'd greatly appreciate comments and Ideas, they help :D<p> 


	8. Trapped

AN: Just a heads up, the rating may change in later chapters...

This is for TadPole11(s) request for Mycroft and Sherlock trapped in an "elevator" (I hope it satisfies) (This one is more present day and could be before John)

Also: Please feel free to suggest things any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).

Just tell me what age you'd like them to be, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Thanks and ENJOY!

* * *

><p>The two brothers share a look before Sherlock takes off down the hall. His first instinct is to try the stairs, since they'd be faster, yet finds the door bolted soundly. He sighs audibly rushing to the lift and impatiently stabbing the button. It feels like ages before the doors rattle open and Sherlock hops in pressing the 6th floor and impatiently tapping the door closed door button. Just as the doors are about to close, the handle of an umbrella stops them.<p>

"Damn it Mycroft," Sherlock curses. "We do not have time for this."

"You think I'm about to let you parade into a possible trap without some form of back up?" Mycroft drawls, the doors closing behind him as he steps into the lift.

"I think you'd rather be at home lying about with a feast." He snaps.

"Regardless, the situation is more than potentially dangerous; and it is my job to make sure you don't kill yourself... No matter how determined you seem to be to succeed."

"Lucky for me, you're here," Sherlock rolls his eyes sarcastically.

"My thoughts exactly," Mycroft smirks knowingly.

Sherlock taps his foot impatiently watching the numbers as they rise toward the 6th floor. They hit the 5th floor, getting half way between 5 and 6 before the lift halted with a jolt.

"No." Sherlock cursed, hitting the button frantically.

"Calm down Sherly," Mycroft uttered, looking around the box in order to figure out a plan of attack.

Any other words where cut off when a voice came over the speaker inside the lift. "Hello my lovelies!" It greets, "Sorry for the inconvenience, but what kind of criminal would I be if I made this easy for you?" He chuckled lightly. "I see you brought your brother… how adorable…" the voice smirked. "I know what you're thinking, there's various ways to escape this under normal circumstances, rest assured these are not normal circumstances…" The voice cut out just as abruptly as it started.

"Wonderful," Sherlock sighed scrubbing his hands through his hair as he paced back and forth.

"Well, obviously, we could either be stopped between floors in a way that lets us reach the floor we need, and there's the emergency hatch," Mycroft states pointing to the square above them with the tip of his umbrella.

"Obviously," the younger Holmes glares. "God, I cannot think in this tiny cubicle."

"This really is no time for the dramatics Sherlock, more than one life is in the balance here..."

"Why don't you try the hatch then, 'Croft, oh no, allow me… wouldn't want you over exerting yourself." Sherlock moved his brother aside, before his brother abruptly stopped him with the hook of his umbrella on his brother's slender wrist.

"Careful with that," Mycroft warn, "It can't be that simple."

In one fluid motion, Sherlock slipped free and stole the umbrella from his brother's grasp.

"Now give it here. I will not have you ruin another one of my possessions with your petulance." The older man glared, his hand waiting expectantly for his pilfered accessory.

"Shhh," He hissed, craning his neck as he observed the slight color deviations in the squares. He pulled the umbrella away from the square, "Brilliant! It's a pattern, don't you see… We have to figure out the proper sequence."

Mycroft glances up as well, "Ah, that's fairly clever…"

"Is it?" He hums.

"Begs the question, what would happen if we got it wrong?" The elder ponders aloud.

"Let's avoid that."

"Quiet right," Mycroft agrees as the brothers study the pattern.

"This one," Sherlock points with the umbrella after a beat.

Mycroft scrutinizes the choice, "Dear brother, must you always be so rash," he smirks, taking back the umbrella and correctly tapping the one next to it.

"Of course," Sherlock grumbles.

Five minutes, and some mild bickering later, the proper hatch opens to allow them to exit the lift.

"Help me up," Sherlock instructs, taking his brothers' umbrella and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Very well," Mycroft grumbles, crouching down with his hands together to give the younger man a leg up.

Sherlock slips through with ease, using the umbrella to pull himself up. Mycroft listens, his eyes scanning above as his brother stomps about. It sounds like he gets through the doors to the six floor before the sounds of a scuffle sound above.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft shouts, as his brother fights an attacker. "You better not leave me down here," he reprimands.

"I'm sure your people are on it," Sherlock huffs out from above, clearly amidst a fight.

The scuffle continues, coming to a halt when an incapacitated man falls through the hatch, landing at Mycroft's feet. He studies him briefly, noting that the man was clearly knocked out and would remain so for five minutes tops.

"What if he comes to?" Mycroft calls up the hatch, shaking his head at his careless brother. Without a word, his battered umbrella clatters down the hole.

* * *

><p>Reviews, suggestions, thoughts, ideas? (anything you'd like to see) Let me know! I'd greatly appreciate comments and Ideas, they help :D<p> 


	9. Happy Birthday

AN: Just a heads up, the rating has changed due to drug use etc...

This is for TadPole11(s) request... it's a little different then what was purposed, but basically the same and ultimately inspired by the suggestion.

(Keep it coming they're helpful and great!)

Also: Please feel free to suggest things any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).

Just tell me what age you'd like them to be, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Thanks and ENJOY!

Sherlock:20 Mycroft:27

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><p>It was Sherlock's 20th birthday; he had come home from uni, upon mummy's request of course. Mycroft was called away from London as well, for the customary family dinner. The party was to be nothing ostentatious, Sherlock wouldn't stand for anything more than the immediate family and even then that was barely tolerable.<p>

Sherlock had come on Friday to stay the weekend, Mycroft arriving early Saturday morning. Father tended to work on Sunday's so Saturday night was ideal, though there was never a guarantee of his attendance.

"Good morning, Mummy," Mycroft greeted, striding into the familiar dining room.

"Is that my Brolly?" Madame Holmes greeted, rising from her breakfast with open arms and a smile upon her delicate features.

Mycroft colored at the nickname of his youth as he embraced her warmly. "And where is the dear birthday boy?" he after they parted.

Madame Holmes sighed audibly, returning to her chair. "Sleeping," she shrugged tiredly, worry evident upon her features, "He was in a right state all yesterday, do see if you can coax him down for breakfast." She asked patting his arm.

"I'll see what I can do Mummy," he offered, patting her shoulder as he crossed behind to exist.

"Thank you, cher," She smiled, "I'll call for your boy's breakfast."

Mycroft headed up the back staircase, towards his brother's room. Trying to prepare himself for his brother, whatever was going on was clearly upsetting mummy and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. He paused in front of the door smirking at the hazardous symbol that still graced it, then raised his fist to knock tentatively.

"Sherlock?" He called as he wrapped upon the wood. Without a reply he moved to open the door to find it strangely locked, a new habit no doubt. "Sherlock, come, open the door… it's time for breakfast." Mycroft listened cautiously, hear clinking around from the other side of the door. "I know you're in there," he sighs, "Mummy wants you to come down."

A dramatic groan sounds from inside the room, "I'll be down promptly," Sherlock's voiced curtly."

"You had better," Mycroft stated, waiting a beat to make sure Sherlock was actually up and moving. Mycroft ambled back down to the dining room, informing mummy that Sherlock would be joining them.

"Good to see his moods are better since going to uni," Mycroft jested tucking in to his breakfast.

"Do not start, Mycroft," Madame Holmes chided, "This is his weekend and I will not tolerate any fighting."

"Good morning!" Sherlock interrupted strolling in energetically, "Mummy, radiant as always," he offered kissing her cheek. "Mycroft, as rotund as ever," he smirked mischievously, taking his seat across from his brother.

Mycroft was quite taken aback at how much thinner his brother had become since last he'd saw him.

"Sherlock be nice," She warned, but there was no threat in her words as she scanned over the paper.

"So nice of you to grace us with your presence," Mycroft offered bitingly, "Late night?"

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed, starring down at his plate with a frown; then opting for a small bite of his toast.

"You must be hungry, cher," Madame Holmes offered, rubbing her sons arm affectionately. "Sylvia said you didn't even touch your dinner last night," she added, her brow creasing.

Sherlock sipped his coffee thoughtfully, "Do not fret, mummy," he started, "Mycroft's here now, he'll eat us out of house and home before the days out." He quickly pilfered a part of the morning paper.

"I must have forgotten, Sherly, but how old are you turning again?" Mycroft smirked, "Five, was it?"

"Ah, yes, I must seem a mere babe to a man who's almost 30... going on 60." Sherlock retaliated, then gasped, "'Croft! Is that a bald spot I see?"

"Enough!" Madame Holmes snapped, standing up from her chair. "If you two cannot behave like the two loving and caring brothers I tried to raise you to be, then this evening is canceled."

"Promise?" Sherlock asked aside, earning a death glare from his mother.

"Am I making myself perfectly clear?" She asks looking down her nose at her sons.

"Yes, Mummy," The boys grumbled in unison, their mother never losing the terrifying quality that her temper held over them; even as they got older.

"Wonderful," She smiled returning to her seat, "Now eat your breakfast, and then you may be excused until dinner."

Mycroft finished first, retreating to one of the front rooms to do some paperwork he had fallen behind on. Around noon, he started to get a bit peckish and decided to trot off to the kitchen for a snack since he still had a good 5 hours before dinner. As he made his way down the long hallway, he couldn't help but over hear the raised voices of him mother and brother coming from, mummy's office. Treading slowly, Mycroft's curiosity got the better of him as he eavesdropped on the conversation.

"What do mean, you aren't sure if you're going to continue your studies?" Madame Holmes questioned in shock.

"It's superfluous, I've learned all I need to know," Sherlock informed her, "There's nothing left for me there, therefore you and father are just wasting your money."

"Wasting our money!" She repeats credulously, "It would be a waste if you didn't finish, Sherlock... You are brilliant, and that will mean nothing if you don't have the proper credentials to back it up!"

"I don't see how a scrap of paper can confirm or deny my level of intellect," He stated venomously, "Any idiot can graduate University!"

"Get out of my sight," Madame Holmes ordered him, "We'll discuss this when your father is home."

"Oh," Sherlock prodded sarcastically. Mycroft shaking his head in the hall, his brother never did know when to shut up. "Is dear daddy going to grace us with his presence this year? It's only my birthday… wouldn't be the first one where work came first."

"You haughty, ungrateful child," She snapped, and Mycroft could picture the head shake the accompanied her words. "I do not want to see you until 5:30 for dinner and we will talk about this when father is home." She glared icily back at her sons similar gaze as he turned to leave. "Oh and Sherlock," she stopped him, "I want you to think long and hard about what you're suggesting here, is the price really worth what this means to us?"

Sherlock fixed his mother with a look, his face hard; but his eyes betraying him. "That price is my happiness," He stated under his breath as he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Mycroft acting as quickly as he could so he wouldn't be caught, heading straight for the kitchen as he replayed all he heard; including Sherlock's parting statement. He decided that after grabbing a quick snack he'd go in search of his brother.

Searching the large house, Mycroft found his brother locked once again in his bed room. He knocked on the door again, "Sherlock, may I speak with you?" he inquired, hearing the clinking of glass and rustling from within the room.

"Just a moment," Sherlock replied, opening the door a moment later.

Mycroft took in his appearance, the buttons on his shirt sleeves undone but not rolled up and his eyes were red as if crying. "May I come in?"

"Very well," Sherlock sighed, padding from the door and flopping on his back on his large bed. "What do you want?" he asked, his fingers idly drumming on his chest as he stared at the ceiling.

"Wanted to chat, you know, how's school and life in general?" Mycroft inquired, sitting in the high backed chair in the corner across from the bed.

"Peachy," Sherlock huffed.

"Clearly," the elder brother sighed, looking out the window. "You know I won't force you to talk to me, least of all about how you're feeling… I know how you abhor such things, but clearly something is wrong."

"Spying again, 'Croft?" He cranes his neck to glare at his brother across the room, "Is the government not paying you enough for your skills?" Mycroft fixing him with a knowing look, as if to say you can't fool me. Sherlock sighed audibly in indignation, "It is of no concern of yours, you will hear it all out by the end of the weekend any way," his frown deepened. "Now if you'd be so kind," he motioned limply to the door, "I wish to take a nap before the frivolities."

Mycroft studied his brother, knowing full well he was lying. Sherlock didn't even nap as a child, and there was clearly something off with his underweight brother. He pondered the idea of stress, due to the current situation, but he had a nagging suspicion that there was something more.

"Fine," he rose from his chair, "If you do wish to speak, you know where to find me." With that, Mycroft took his leave, and they brothers didn't see each other till 5 as they headed down for the birthday dinner.

"There are my handsome boys," Madame Holmes greeted them warmly, Sherlock nodding as he headed to his customary seat.

"Uh uh," She tisked, "Sherlock you sit here, she placed her hands on the chair at the head of the table. "The birthday boy gets the seat of honor."

The younger man frowned as he moved to his designated seat.

"Where's father?" Mycroft questioned as he sat to the left of his brother.

"He's running late," She smiled brushing it off, "He'll make it in time for cake."

The three of them, sat in awkward silence as their food was brought to them. They ate silently, Sherlock picking at each course, even though it was his favorite meal prepared just for him. Never fully finishing any of the courses placed in front of him and ignoring Mummy's disapproving glances.

Their father still had not arrived by the time they had eaten their last bite, and mummy insisted that they remain in the dining room and wait for a bit before doing the cake. Mycroft went off to procure a board game, the three of them playing a brutal game of Scrabble. An hour later, Sherlock was reaching his breaking point.

"He's not coming can't we just get this over with?" He huffed, flicking a lettered tile.

"Your father is a man of his word," Madame Holmes fixed him with a look; "He will be here."

"Did you get new curtains in the parlor?" Mycroft asked trying to keep the situation stable.

"Why yes cher," She beamed, "The old ones where terribly shabby, it was just time for a change."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, pushing away from the table before rising, "I'll be right back."

"Where do you think you're going, young man?" She asked sternly, knowing better then to assume he wouldn't try to run off.

"Toilet." He stated curtly, turning on his heel and heading out of the dining room.

Mycroft knew better of course, his brother was actually going out to the garden for a smoke. A terrible habit, really, it was fine once in a while but at the rate his brother was going he'd need at least 3 packs a day in less than a year. Father arrived in Sherlock's absence, bringing the cake in with him, the candles all ready lit. The song dying in his throat as he realized his youngest was not in the room.

"Where is the lad?" He questioned, looking around. No sooner did he ask, and then Sherlock strode back into the room. The singing commenced instantly, much to Sherlock's ire as he returned to his seat.

They cake was cut and he was bestowed two presents. After a couple bites of his cake he pushed it out of the way and towards Mycroft.

"Come on, son, open up your gifts." Mr. Holmes instructed.

"Very well," Sherlock sighed, wishing he could just leave all ready. He opened the envelope from his parents, feigning surprise at the fifty pound note inside which was their customary present. "Thanks," he murmured, pocketing the money until turning to his brothers gift.

"I was going to wrap it in a large box to throw you off, but I figured straight forward was a better approach this year." Mycroft smirked, sliding the simply wrapped square to his brother.

"A, C.D." Sherlock arched a brow as he unwrapped the gift. "Sarasate for violin," he read aloud, holding up the case.

"Figure you'd appreciate it," Mycroft offered.

Sherlock nodded, reading the contents on the back. "Well I think that it's lovely, very thoughtful of you Mycroft." Madame Holmes offered.

"Well, Happy Birthday," Mr. Holmes offered, "The 2-0, eh…" he sighed wistfully, "The good ole' days." He took his wife's hand smiling before turning back to his youngest, "So how's uni?"

"Can we go five minutes without talking about my education?" Sherlock asked coldly.

"I haven't seen you in months and I'm paying good money for your education so I'll ask what I damn well please, you have no right to speak to me like that, young man."

"'Ford," Madame Holmes warned her husband, trying to keep him calm.

"That's correct, father," Sherlock stood, his tone getting loud, "You haven't seen me in months and you couldn't even be on time for dinner!"

"Sherlock," Mycroft began.

"Shut it, Mycroft!" Sherlock snapped. "And as for school, I'm sure mummy can fill you in on the details."

"Sherlock Holmes!" She rose, in full scolding mode. "You sit down right this minute and apologize to your father!"

"No," He snapped back about to push out the door.

"Where do you think you're going young man?" Mr. Holmes stood as well his voice deadly calm.

"You taught me to step out if I cannot calmly and rationally talk to you… so I'm stepping out!" And with that, he left C.D. in hand.

Mycroft slunk away, shortly after his brother left. Their parents discussing the current situation and Mummy filling father in on what transpired earlier, a conversation he didn't need to hear again. The door to the house slammed and echoed down the hall, Mycroft getting there in time to see his brother running down the drive to a car that was waiting outside the gate.

He had no clue as to what to make of his brother's departure as he took up a seat in the front room in order to observe his brother's return. A few hours later his mother wandered in, causing him to look up from the novel he was trying to be interested in.

"We're going to bed, Brolly." She informed him sadly, "He went out then?" She peeks out the curtain. "He will be the death of me," She shakes her head with worry,

"I'll keep an eye out for him."

She smiled sadly and kissed his forehead warmly, "Thank you cher… I know it's hard to see, but you are a great brother and one day Sherlock will come to see that."

"I know mummy," He nodded sternly, glancing to the window. "Good night."

"Good night."

Mycroft watched out the window for a while after Mummy retired before trying to turn back to his book. That task seemed in vain because shortly after he began to drift off, his head falling back as his mouth hung open in sleep. He was woken abruptly, by the sound of violin music coming from above. Checking his watch he noticed it was just after midnight, he stretched briefly and headed toward the apex of the noise; his brother's room.

Without preamble, Mycroft burst into his brother's room surprised to find the door unlocked. That is until see saw his brother; perched on the window seat with a cigarette in his mouth and a needle poised at his arm, a dusting of powder on the Sarasate case.

Mycroft blinked for a moment, taking in the scene with his hand still firmly gripping the door knob. "Sherlock," he breathed, unsure what to do or say.

The younger man fixed him with a look, inhaling in his cigarette as he pushed the plunger home.

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><p>Reviews, suggestions, thoughts, ideas? (anything you'd like to see) Let me know! I'd greatly appreciate comments and Ideas, they help :D<p> 


	10. And a Happy New Year

AN: Special thanks to TadPole11 your great ideas are a big help in inspiring these. It's hard when you want to write, but don't know what about, so Thanks and keep it up I really appreciate it!

Also Reminder: Feel free to suggest things any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).

Just tell me what age you'd like them to be, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Thanks and ENJOY!

Sherlock:14 Mycroft:21

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><p>Sherlock was curled up in his favorite high back chair at his parents' house; snow was gently falling from the sky as he idly read from his new chemistry book with the curtains drawn. Tomorrow was New Years Eve, and he had no plans what so ever. Not that he minded, the whole thing was silly any way, plus his only friend was up in Scotland visiting family.<p>

"There you are cher," His mother greeted, sweeping into the room. "As you may recall, we are going to the Havishom's for New Years."

The dark haired boy looked up from his volume with surprise, his eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Don't say what, say pardon." Madame Holmes instructed as she through open the curtains to let the harsh winter light in.

"Pardon," Sherlock replied haughtily, wincing at the change of lighting.

"Oh, don't give me that look…" She warned, "I told you about it at Christmas, and since you never seem to remember anything I tell you…" She paused, fixing her son with a look as he made to interject. "You won't recall that it's grownups only, this year."

"Oh, what a shame," He replied with disinterest as he returned to his book.

"Yes, I know that you where so looking forward to it," She smirked sarcastically, absently straightening the mess that seemed to follow her youngest around. "Mycroft will be coming up." Madame Holmes added airily.

"Why?" Sherlock snapped, immediately going on the defensive. "I'm quite old enough to look after myself for one night, Mummy and furthermore…"

"Calm down Sherlock," She interjected. "It's not on spending a holiday alone, cher." She soothed, her son still poised defensively as she sat on the arm of his chair. "It'll be fun, there's Champagne and I've had Sylvia prepare some goodies for you boys."

"Mycroft will no doubt eat them all before his new year's diet is even in effect." Sherlock huffed.

"Now be nice, you know how hard he works… and he's giving up his friends and colleagues in London to come and spend time with you."

"You mean to babysit me," Sherlock sulked, crossing his arms petulantly. "He's only coming to make sure I don't blow anything or anyone up and that the house is still standing when you return because you don't trust me."

"Why do you always make things out to be so sinister?" His mother breathed, throwing her arms in the air as she stood.

"Should I answer alphabetically or chronologically?"He glared.

"I just don't want you to be lonely and miserable, is that so hard to believe?"

"I'm perfectly content being alone, thank you very much."

"Do not lie, Sherlock." She admonished.

"I'm not." He replied, affronted. "We are born alone and we die alone, end of story, might as well get used to it now." He pulled his knees up onto the chair hugging them close, and resting his chin as he went back to his book.

"Stop with this macabre nonsense, mark my words one day you will find a nice girl... or boy," She supplied, leading since it was so hard to tell his inclinations. "Who will fill in the cracks you never realized you had and when you do leave this earth, god willing, there will be someone to morn you." She huffed, re-fluffing a throw pillow unnecessarily.

Sherlock was quiet for a beat taking in her words pensively. "Unlikely," he breathed softly.

Madame Holmes rolled her eyes, "Why do I even bother," she swept toward the door. "Your brother is coming tomorrow whether you like it or not," She informed him sternly. "And you will have a lovely time celebrating the dawn of a new year, blow up the house for all I care." She stated simply, clearly having enough of her teenage son, before taking her leave.

The next day, Mycroft arrived about an hour or so after Mummy and Father left for their party. He took his time getting settled in his old room, before going in search of his brother. He found the younger man in the living room; lying in the middle of the floor on his back and flicking scrabble tiles, with glue on them, up on the ceiling.

Mycroft stepped into his brother's line of vision looking above at the teenager's handy work. "I take it you're bored," he offered, seeing as the word was stock above his head along with some other interesting terms.

"Brilliant, brother, what was your first clue for that deduction?" Sherlock asked snidely.

"Lovely to see you too, Sherly," Mycroft smirked. "You know you're missing a Y there?" He pointed.

"There's only one in the box."

"Ah, well what would you like to do this evening?"

"Die." Sherlock stated flatly.

"Hmm…" Mycroft hummed, undeterred by his brother's surliness, "If you're dead then you won't be able to watch the documentary I brought on medical oddities from 1850 to present day."

Sherlock sat up abruptly, eyeing his brother critically. "That could be fairly interesting," he sighed, trying to hide his enthusiasm, "Only if you promise that there will be no silly new year's anything."

"Promise," Mycroft smirked, crossing his heart for good measure. "Will you permit at least an acknowledgement of the year charge and the consumption of alcohol?"

The dark haired boy thought for a moment, before turning his pale eyes to his brother. "Very well, but if you wish me Happy anything…" He warned matter of factually, "I'll break your jaw." He hopped to his feet agilely, "Now where is this film you speak of?"

"By the telly," Mycroft answered as his brother strode past him, clearly closer to his own height then he was last time he saw him, "Another growth spurt I see."

"Yes, yes, dull." Sherlock nodded, turning around from inserting the film, "I don't suppose I will be taller then you one day?"

"You never know," Mycroft shrugged sitting down on the couch.

A quarter into the program, Mycroft excused himself to go and fetch some of the treats Sylvia prepared; knowing full well his brother wouldn't eat otherwise. Whilst raiding the kitchen, he decided to sneak a slice of the German chocolate cheesecake. For going the plate he stood before the open refrigerator door as he delved into the opulent dessert.

"Hey 'croft!" Sherlock startled him, snapping a picture of his brother turning towards him surprised mid bite. The younger boy removes the Polaroid photo, shaking it back and forth to help it develop, "I knew the diet would be over before the resolution started."

Mycroft looked livid, his face turning red, "Give that here now, Sherlock!"

"Um… no!" He smirked looking at the new black mail photo.

"I'm going to end you," The older brother spat lunging forward to try and steal the photograph.

"But that would involve exercise," Sherlock laughed as he took off down the hall way, surprised that his brother was chasing after him.

When the elder Holmes finally caught up, the Polaroid was nowhere to be found; and Sherlock was grinning like the cat that got the canary.

"Where is it?" Mycroft huffed, trying to catch his breath.

"I haven't the foggiest," Sherlock lied.

After a brief struggle, Mycroft had his brother pinned under him and thusly immobilized. "Tell me what you did with it!"

"No," Sherlock huffed, struggling in vain. "I need it for leverage."

"I'm not above torture, as you may recall." He narrowed his eyes. "Now tell me!"

"Death first!" Was the youngest's reply.

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><p>Reviews, suggestions, thoughts, ideas?<p> 


	11. La Plage

AN: I may spin off Ch 9 or just add to it through out these snap shots... haven't decided yet

Again, Special thanks to TadPole11 you're kinda my muse right now, so thank you so very much for being awesome!

Also Reminder: Feel free to suggest things any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).

Just tell me what age you'd like them to be, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Thanks and ENJOY!

Sherlock:7 Mycroft: 14

* * *

><p>Over the holiday, Mycroft and Sherlock where sent off to the South of France with Mummy's sister Aunt Vie. Father had a business trip in Japan so he and Madame Holmes would spend the week there before joining their children.<p>

"Mummy?" Sherlock called running into his parents' bedroom as his mother finished packing.

"Qui, mon cher," She replied, enforcing his understanding of the French language.

"Must we go?" He wined, starring up at her with pleading eyes and a pout on his lips. "And we're still in England so speak English, woman!"

"Sherlock, how many times have I told you…" She sighs, folding a blouse and ignoring the looks he was shooting her. "It's not polite to call me woman like that, or anyone else for that matter."

"But you are a woman," He states matter of factually, as he pushes the luggage out of the way to sit on the bed. "And being polite is boring."

"Your brother's polite, are you saying he's boring?" She questions absently.

"That doesn't count," Sherlock tries to tapper with the luggage earning a stern look from his mother. "He's sooo older, I'm sure when I'm as old as he is I'll be so polite it'll make you ill." He flops back dramatically.

"Well I look forward to that." She informs him.

"Look forward to what?" Mr. Holmes asks, as he enters their bedroom.

"Sherlock being an extremely polite young man," She informs him with a warm smile.

"Hmm… me too," he agrees with a smirk.

"Can't I go to Japan with you?" He begs looking at his father with pleadingly. "I heard there's a fish that you can eat, that even if you prepare it properly there's a chance you could die."

"That's not true, cher," Mummy informs him, after sharing a look across the bed with her husband.

"It is!" He insists, sitting up, "It's highly poisonous, one bite and its curtains!" He states dramatically, faking a death scene for his parents benefit. "Aren't you curious?" Sherlock turns to his father.

"Listen to your mother," Mr. Holmes replies absently, ruffling his son's curly locks as he searches for something.

Sherlock huffs in exasperation, tucking his knees up to his chest as he picks the bedspread.

"Besides, Tata Vie would be very sad if one of her favorite nephew's wasn't coming to see her." She informed him.

"She likes Mycroft better," He whispers softly.

"Now that is not true, Sherlock." Madame Holmes kneels down in front of her young son, trying to coax him to look up at her. "She adores you, you understand me?" Sherlock nods ruefully, not truly believing her. "Where did you get an idea like that, anyway?"

"I dunno," he shrugs.

"Come here," She scoops him up, hugging him tightly before propping him on her hip. "What do you say we make sure Curie is packed, and then we'll go find your brother because I heard Sylvia made lemon bars." She smiles trying to entice him. "Sound good?"

Sherlock thinks for a beat before nodding, his features lightening as she carries him out of the room. "Oh and darling," she calls back to her husband, "Your ledger is in the dining room where you left it this morning."

Mycroft was gripping his brother's little hand tightly; Father had given him distinct instructions not to lose Sherlock at the airport, no matter how much he had wanted to.

"'Croft, you're hurting me!" Sherlock squirmed dramatically.

"Calm down Sherlock," He warned, as passersby gave the pair odd looks. "Don't think I don't know what you'll do the minute I let go."

"She's not coming, let's just go back on the plane." The younger boy huffs trying to pull his arm out of his brother's death grip.

No sooner had he said that then Auntie Vie appeared, smiling broadly when her gaze fell upon them. "Mes neveux!" She screeched excitedly. "Oh mon dieu! Tu deveins si beau!" She states crushing Mycroft in a hug.

"Merci, tata Vie." Mycroft blushed.

"Mon petit," she adds scooping up Sherlock.

"Je ne suis pas peu." Sherlock glares at her, deciding then and there to only speak English for the remainder of the trip, unless strictly necessary.

"No I suppose you are not," she smiles, jostling Sherlock to make sure he's secure as she leads Mycroft out of the airport with their luggage.

There was a freak rainstorm that evening when they arrived at Vie's home, but as soon as it came, it was gone; revealing a beautiful sunny day.

"Why so glum?" Vie asks, her hands on her knees as she leans more to Sherlock's level as he glares out the window.

"Look at it!" He motions, "Isn't it hateful?"

"What is?" She asks with concern, "I see nothing..."

"You won't," Mycroft interjects as he joins them in the kitchen for breakfast.

"It's a beautiful day out, cher." She pats his small shoulder.

"That's the problem I'm afraid," The elder brother informs her, taking up his seat.

"Non-sense, some sun will do you good," She shakes her head, heading back to the counter to move the food to the table. "It can be so dreary in England and you boys will have a bonnes vacances!"

Sherlock huffs, crossing his arms as if to say, "I doubt it."

"How does a trip to the beach sound?" Vie asks, when their all seated and finishing their breakfast.

"Bonne idée!" Mycroft smiles, determined to make the most of his holiday, "I'll go get changed." He excuses himself from the table.

"Et vous, mon petite?" She smiles running her hand softly through the young boys curls.

"Unavailable," he states, in the same tone he's heard his dad use countless time when bowing out of things.

"Adorables," She says to herself winking at him. "Now go get changed," She shoos him out.

Sherlock, in protest, wears a long sleeved shirt and hat with his swim trunks, bringing his sketch pad and remains silent the entire trip there.

"You're going to overheat," Mycroft warns. "Then you'll die of sunstroke," he adds menacingly.

"Come here Sherlock," Vie calls, Sherlock sticking his tongue out at his brother before stomping across the sand. "I don't want you to burn up." She informs him as she covers him with sunscreen, Sherlock squirming the entire time. "Now you boys run along and have fun, I'll me right here under if you need me." She waves them off, laying back under her umbrella with her novel. "Don't go too far now, Sherlock," She warns.

Sherlock watches Mycroft trot off toward the water and other kids his own age; before setting out himself, sketch book in hand. He wanders along the wet sand, abhorring the feel of dry sand and avoiding at all costs, he stumbles upon a jelly fish. He studies it for a while before drawing it to the best of his abilities, when a girl about his age wonders towards him.

"What ya doing?" She asks in a clearly American accent, as she drops her bucket down to lean over his shoulder.

"Drawing," he replies simply.

"I can see that silly," She shakes her head, her wet pigtails throwing droplets around. "Wanta build a sand castle?"

He eyes her for a beat, "I do not like sand," he admits. "Wanta play nurse?"

"How you play that?" She asks.

Mycroft is chatting up a pretty blonde American girl named Astell, who may or may not be a couple years older, a fact that will surely make him the envy of all his mates back home when they hear screaming.

"I'm sorry that sounds like my sister," She stands running in the direction of the noise with Mycroft close on her heals.

"What's going on here?" He asks as soon as he catches sight of his little brother.

"Hey Maddie," Astell knells in front of her teary sister.

"We, we where…" She sniffles, "where playing and I was being a nurse just like he said wwwith the shovel… he said we'd we'd burry it, but…" She starts sobbing again.

"Sherlock, what's she on about?" Mycroft fixes him with a stare that is too much like their father.

"All I did was use scalpel to investigate the jelly fish…" Sherlock shrugged.

"By scalpel you mean shovel?" Astell asked, with an eyebrow raised.

"Obviously," the little boy looked up at his brother like really.

"I want you to apologize," Mycroft looked down at him sternly.

"Wha…why?" Sherlock questions in confusion.

"You clearly upset this girl, and that was nice." He explains gripping his brother's shoulders tightly.

"No," He huffs, "You can't control me."

"Be nice…" Mycroft grits out, squeezing the little boys shoulders more, still trying to impress Astell.

"Sorry," Sherlock breathes uncomfortably, starring at his feet.

"Is ok," Maddie smiles through her tear stained face.

"Alright how bout some lunch?" Astell asks her sister, earning a big nod in response. "See you around Mycroft," She smiles at him, than fixes Sherlock with an odd look as they turn and leave.

"Why do you always have to embarrass me?" Mycroft snapped relinquishing his hold once the girls were out of ear shot.

"Why do you always pick the stupid girls?" He glares back, picking up his sketch book.

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer, you rude little brat."

"I don't want to speak to you anyway," Sherlock fixed him with a hard glare, trying to fight back tears as. He chucked his sketch pad at his brother's head before taking off toward the safety of Auntie Vie's umbrella.

* * *

><p>Reviews, suggestions, thoughts, ideas?<p> 


	12. Harsh

AN: Reminder: Feel free to suggest things any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).

Just tell me what age you'd like them to be, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

(I think I'm going to do something more sweet next, they fight an awful lot ;D)

Thanks and ENJOY!

Sherlock:11 Mycroft: 18

* * *

><p>"Look what you did!" Sherlock screams, staring at what was left of his new test tube set.<p>

"It was an accident Sherly, I'm truly sorry," Mycroft apologizes.

"They where brand new you fat git!"

"I said I was sorry, Sherlock. What more do you want from me?" The elder brother snaps before composing himself, "Let me fetch the dust pan and we'll clean this mess up before Mummy sees."

"No!" Sherlock shouts stomping, "I want her to witness the carnage my clumsy brother perpetrated."

"You're acting like I did it on purpose!"

"Didn't you?" The younger boy's eyes flash dangerously at his brother.

"No, and frankly I do not see how you can even think that. It was an accident, and I'm even offering to clean up the mess for you." Mycroft informed him, a bit hurt. "I do wish you'd accept my apology so we can move on."

Sherlock looked at him aghast as if he was asked to parade naked through town covered in sardines, "Well, I wish you were dead!" He screams angrily, crossing his arms and turning his back on his brother.

Mycroft stares at the boy in shock, not sure how to process it. Rationally he knows Sherlock meant nothing by it in his anger, but it still hurt. "You don't mean that," he stated quietly, looking at the broken glass on the floor.

"I Do!" Sherlock sneered, "If you're what it means to have a brother then I don't want one! Go fall down the well, for all I care!"

"Sherlock Holmes!" His mother bellowed, from the door way. "You apologize to your brother this instant!"

"No, he broke my new test tubes," The curly haired boys snaps.

"I already apologized," Mycroft repeated for his mothers benefit.

"Is that true?" She asked receiving a nod. "Then there is no excuse for your behavior, you do are not to wish someone dead, especially your own brother." She informs him, her hands on her hips. Sherlock remains silent, his back to the room as he pouts. "Fine," Madame Holmes begins, "If you cannot behave properly, then I want you to go to your father's study and sit and wait." She checks her delicate gold watch, "He will be home in one hour to deal with you."

"Mummy…" Sherlock began to protest.

"No, you had your chance young man," Madame Holmes told him sternly, "Unless there's something you wish to tell your brother," she waited patiently.

The younger boy thought for a moment as he made his way to the door, "Go to hell, Mycroft!" He glared as they watched each other.

That had done it; Madame Holmes started to berate him in litany of French and grabbed him by his ear to march him to his father's study.

* * *

><p>Reviews, suggestions, thoughts, ideas?<p> 


	13. Harsh part 2

Sherlock:11 Mycroft: 18

* * *

><p>Sherlock sat petulantly in his father's study in an overstuffed leather chair, his knees tucked up to his body as he rests his chin upon them. He stared disinterested out the window as the minutes ticked on the old clock in the corner. One hour slowly began to fade into two, his father was always late and the youngest Holmes felt that the waiting alone should be punishment enough.<p>

"Bored," Sherlock thought to himself, hugging his knees tighter. His thoughts where whirling away inside him: trying to predict what father would deem punishment, how he should not be the one being punishment along with a list of all the things he could be doing right now.

Finally at half past 5 he heard the familiar noises of his father's return from work. The development did nothing to stir him from his current position, he still had a good five minutes of Mummy explaining what happened before he'd enter the study.

"Sherlock?" His father's deep voice greeted as he stepped into the office, shutting the door behind him. "What's this business I hear about you being unkind to your brother?" Mr. Holmes questions as he crosses around to the other side of his desk.

"He broke my test tubes," Sherlock stated simply.

"That's no excuse." Mr. Holmes tuts, "He apologized yet you would not hear reason."

"There was no reason for him to break them!" The young lad began adamantly trying to defend himself.

"Really, Sherlock," his father began, fixing him with a stern look, "Accidents do happen, and I understand that you where upset; however you have made a mountain out of a mole hill."

"But," Sherlock starts to protest.

His father's gaze silences him, "Now I want you to apologize to your brother at dinner and there will be now fighting this weekend while your mum and I are away."

Sherlock's quiet for a beat, "No," he states resolutely.

"No?" Mr. Holmes scoffs in surprise.

"I'm not hungry, and will not be attending dinner." He informs him, rising from his chair.

"Then you are grounded until further noticed," Mr. Holmes states nonplussed, as he glances over the mail at his desk. "Including the weekend and that means no leaving the house or any of the things you enjoy doing."

"I haven't been grounded a day in my life," Sherlock boasts.

"Well that is about to change," His father replies matter of factually, "You are to go to your room and write the line 'I will not tell people to die," repeatedly of course…I will be up to check your progress after dinner, understand?"

"Fine," The young boy snaps, striding to the door.

"Oh and Sherlock," His father calls absently, causing the boy to pause, "This punishment can end whenever you decide to put your petty feelings aside and right things with your brother."

Sherlock huffs in indignation as he stomps from the room to serve out the remainder of his punishment.

A few hours and a couple pages of paper later, there's a rap on his door. He ignores it, as he continues on with his mindless punishment. Much to his surprise it is his mother and not his father who enters his dimly lit bedroom.

"I'm here to check on your progress," She informs him, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to the sprawled out boy.

"Where's father been called off to?" He asks, feigning nonchalance.

"He had an important call he had to take, so I was sent in his place," She rubs his back as she reads over his shoulder. "Well, it's good to see you're actually following your punishment," she smirks, flipping the pages.

"Mmm," Sherlock hums absently.

"I think that's enough for one day," Madame Holmes closes the notebook, "I know it's a little late, cher, but if you're hungry we can go down to the kitchen..."

"No, I'm fine." Sherlock shifts, resting his head on his mother's lap her delicate hand running through his curls.

"Very well," She hums, stroking his head soothingly for a couple minutes. "Alright, Bed-time, Mister," she orders, noticing his fluttering lids and pushing him up.

The next morning, the boy's parents leave for their weekend retreat; leaving Mycroft in charge and a still "grounded" Sherlock. What makes matters worse is that Mycroft is ignoring the younger Holmes, not talking to him and generally disregarding his presence.

"'Croft," Sherlock starts, after watching his brother read for a good ten minutes. "Is the tree house considered part of the house?" There's no reply as Sherlock stares at the tree house from the window, already deciding that it is indeed a part of the house. "Fine, ignore me," he huffs stomping out of the room.

Mycroft shakes his head as he sees his little brother "stealthily" sneak up to the tree house. He decides to wait until he's at least finished the chapter before retrieving his brother from the garden. After putting the task off as long as possible he finally gets up from his arm chair and heads out side.

"Sherlock," Mycroft calls up the rope ladder, "You know perfectly well that is not a part of the house." There's no reply from above, the elder brother sighs audibly, "Get down here this instant."

"Talking to me now, are you?" Sherlock calls.

"Yes well, don't get used to it." He replies curtly.

"I'm not coming down."

"Don't make me come up there," Mycroft warns.

Sherlock bursts into barely contained giggles, "I'd love to see you try."

Mycroft's eyes narrow at the lofty dwelling, weighing his options before sighing in defeat. "I cannot believe you sometimes." He huffs as he ascends the ladder.

Sherlock peaks his head out of the entrance when Mycroft is about half-way up the ladder, "You do not have permission to board," he informs him.

"This is," Mycroft huffs still climbing, "A hostile takeover."

No sooner did the words escape him then the next rung of the ladder gave out, either due to the weight or the fact that the rope was a good 15 years old. Mycroft scrabbled to maintain his footing, as Sherlock watched on with wide eyes when the older boy fell to the ground with a cry.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted after him, acting quickly he disappeared to the other side of the tree house, using the slots carved into the tree to climb down to the ground. "'Croft," he calls again, kneeling next to his brother.

"I'm fine Sherlock," he answers calmly, gritting his teeth as he shields his arm form his brother's view.

"Don't lie," he orders, turning his brother's shoulder to reveal a severely broken arm, the bone just showing through the skin. Sherlock pales at the sight.

"It's nothing," Mycroft tries to remain in charge of the situation to keep himself and his brother from freaking out.

" 'Croft," Sherlock starts, trying his best not to break down, "I should have listened, I know it's not part of the house, but…"

"Sherlock, its fine," Mycroft interjected, trying to get his brother to focus, "But I need your help, you understand?" The younger boy nods, panic evident in his eyes. "Right, I need you to help me up, carefully, so we can go inside and find Sylvia." The boy nods again in understanding, "There's a good chap," Mycroft smirks.

Sherlock gingerly aids his brother to his feet as they make a slow jaunt toward the house. "Sylvia!" Sherlock shouts, once they're inside. "Sylvia!"

"What is it, lad?" Sylvia asks in annoyance, wiping her hands on her apron as she makes her way down the hall. "Oh, my," she gasps, finally taking in the sight of the elder Holmes. "Sherlock, be a dear and fetch my purse and the car keys." She instructs calmly, guiding Mycroft to the bench and administering as much first aid as she possibly can.

The ride to the A & E is a silent one, Sherlock watching his brother nervously as Sylvia white knuckles it through the traffic. Once they arrive, Mycroft is whisked off to an exam room and Sherlock and Sylvia are left to wait.

"Now I want you to sit right here, while I ring your parents," Sylvia instructed him.

Sherlock sat, tucking himself up into the chair as he waited. Once again, his mind raced with the outcomes of the situation. "What if the wound had become infected on the ride and they had to amputate… or worse what if Mycroft died of sepsis and it was all my fault." He tried his best to squash these thoughts with logic, but it did nothing to put his mind at ease.

Sylvia returned, taking one look at the young boy and silently putting her arm around his shoulders matronly. It felt like ages before Mycroft was wheeled out to them with his arm in a sling and a white cast, Sherlock looking even paler at the sight of his brother.

"He's all patched up ma'am," The doctor informed them, "It was a clean break and he might have a scar, but he'll live." He smiled, "We gave him some medication for the pain and such, and he'll have to schedule an appointment with his doctor in order to monitor its healing."

Sylvia takes them home, informing them that their parents will be back first thing in the morning. Sherlock keeps his distance, hiding in the space under his father's desk, as Sylvia takes Mycroft up to his room to rest. The younger boy remains there the rest of the day, Sylvia knowingly placing a snack on top of the desk for him.

Mycroft awakens a few hours later, sitting up with some difficulty as he takes in his newly plastered arm. He's surprised to find that someone already took the liberty of signing the appendage. There in small messy print is written:

I'm glad you're not dead

-S

* * *

><p>Reminder: Feel free to suggest things any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just tell me what age you'd like them to be, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)


	14. Accident Smoke

Sherlock:7 Mycroft: 14

* * *

><p>Sherlock was searching the house for his older brother with his stuffed animal, Curie, into tow. He searched room after room, only to find each one empty. Madame and Mr. Holmes where both at work and the young boy happened upon Sylvia in the kitchen prepping for dinner and as much as he didn't want to, he decided to ask for help.<p>

"What is it lad," the frazzled woman asked as if expecting the question before he even asked.

"Where's 'Croft?" He asks haughtily.

"He's outside with a couple of his mates, I believe." She informs him, turning her back as she moves about the kitchen.

Sherlock pouts for a beat, he didn't quite care for his brother's friends. Mostly because they treated him like he was little, but also because distracted his Mycroft's attention from him. "I suppose we'll have to find him then," Sherlock states to his stuffed animal, hugging it tight in the crook of his arm before pushing out the back door. He searches the garden until he finds his brother with a couple of his mates, they're huddled together in the back corner of the garden that's furthest from the house and shielded by a large tree. They younger boy watches them for a beat and then marches over to the older group.

"'Croft, what are you doing?" Sherlock asks him loudly.

Mycroft turns, his eyes narrowing as he exhales a puff of smoke the perpetrator clutched between his fingers. "Go back inside, Sherly, this doesn't concern you," he orders, his friends snickering.

"No, you promised to play with me and Curie today and you're smoking!" he gasps.

"You better not tell on us Smallock," the one kid taunts. "Besides, he's got more important things to do than play pretend with you and your creatures," he adds and takes a drag from a cigarette.

"Shut up, Davey," Sherlock glares at them. "Mycroft only hangs out with you because you're stupid."

"Sherlock, please go inside, I'll play with you later." Mycroft grits out, trying to keep his façade for his mates.

"Why don't you listen to your brother and toddle off, then." The other mate shoos him. "No one wants a little 'accident' hanging about." He jibes cruelly at the brother's age difference.

Sherlock looks at them his resolution failing as he takes off across the yard, running away from the older boys.

"That was not on, Jeffery." Mycroft scolds, shoving his mate.

"Oi!" Jeffery complains, shoving back, "It got rid of him, didn't it?"

"I think it's time for you to leave," Mycroft nodded stiffly, "I'll see you later," he adds, flicking the rest of his first cigarette at the other boy's feet and turning to head after his brother.

"Come on, Myc!" Davey calls after him.

Mycroft turns, "I said sod off!" he snaps at them, and then heads back striding purposefully across the yard.

He finds Sherlock in the tree house, tucked up in the corner with Curie; looking as small as possible.

"Sherlock," He calls softly, sitting Indian style across from his brother as he patiently waits for an answer.

"I'm…" Sherlock sniffles, "I'm not an accident am I, 'Croft?" He looks up, his face tear stained and red.

"Of course you aren't," Mycroft admonished.

"Are you sure?" he sniffs again, picking a loose thread from his creature. "I know 7 years is a huge difference and…"

"Yes," He hushes him, "I know it for a fact that you where not a mistake," The elder boy assures him, "Besides Jeffery and Davey are idiots."

Sherlock is silent as he absorbs everything; "I know they are, but…" he trails off, whipping his face on his sleeves. "Do you smoke now?" He asks switching gears, "Because Mummy said that if she ever caught us smoking she'd either make us smoke the pack or eat them."

"No," Mycroft tells him truthfully, chuckling and their mother's ludicrous threat, "I was only trying it, and quite frankly they taste awful." The younger boy nods, as if he understands how they tasted first hand. "Now I believe we had something scheduled, that is if you and Madame Curie are available?"

* * *

><p>Reminder: Feel free to suggest things any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just tell me what age you'd like them to be, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)


	15. Ambulance

Sherlock:6 Mycroft: 13

* * *

><p>"What are you doing, Sherly?" Mycroft asked finding his younger brother, intently staring out the window, his face practically pressed against the glass.<p>

"I heard sirens, it looks like they're at the McCredie's," Sherlock stated, shuffling on the window seat to allow room for Mycroft.

"Hmm… it would appear so," He agrees, leaning forward to look out the window at the emergency personnel milling about in front of the house down the street. "Mummy told be to fetch you." He adds.

Sherlock ignores the older boy, watching enraptured as he waits for the stretcher to come back out of the house. "You think one of them fell down the stairs? I don't think any elderly relatives where visiting… I hope it's messy." He added eagerly.

"Sherlock," Mycroft admonishes with a look. "I'm sure it was just an accident…Now come it's time for lunch."

"Not hungry," He says absently. "They're wheeling them out 'Croft." He taps the window excitedly; Mycroft's curiosity getting the better of him as well as he continues to watch. "How am I supposed to know who it is if the face is covered with a sheet?" Sherlock pouts.

"It's clearly an adult, Sherlock, which should narrow it down."

"Obviously," He rolls his eyes. "There's some man, I've never seen him before…" The man in question gets in his vehicle to follow the ambulance, the lights cutting out as it turns the corner. "Are they dead, "Croft?" Sherlock turns to look at his brother expectantly. "That's what that means right, when their faces are covered and they don't have the lights on?"

Mycroft's silent for a beat, internally debating whether or not to tell his six year old brother that yes the neighbor's probably dead now. He decides not to, mostly as to not anger their mother for being too blunt. "I don't think so, Sherly," he starts, feigning nonchalance, "You can't believe everything on telly."

"Oh," the younger boy nods, oddly dejected.

"Come now, mummy's waiting," he takes his brother's hand to lead him away.

Little did Mycroft know, his little white lie didn't do anything to quell his brother's curiosity; a day or two later a surely Sherlock was marched to their front door by an extremely perturb Mr. McCredie.

* * *

><p>AN: Short, I know but Feel free to suggest things any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just tell me what age you'd like them to be, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

:)REVIEW(:


	16. Pirate Fall

Sherlock:8 Mycroft: 15

* * *

><p>Mycroft was sitting in the library reading, Mummy had taken Sherlock with her to the grocery so he was utilizing the peace and quiet of the large house before his mates where due over. A few hours later, his little brother bounded in enthusiastically clutching a picture frame in his small hands, "'Croft, look what mummy got me!" He called, brandishing the picture of a regal old pirate ship a sea. "She said it was for Valentine's Day, but I know it was because I behaved quite well at the shops." Sherlock told him conspiratory, "I didn't even mention Mr. Schaffer's fake hair."<p>

"It's a toupee, Sherly, they're called toupees." Mycroft correct, informing him of the correct terminology.

"Right, that…" the curly hair boy nodded. "Isn't it the best ship ever, 'Croft?"

"Mhmm…" He agrees absently, "Why don't you run along and find a spot to hang that in your room." The older boy suggested, trying to return to his novel.

Sherlock races off to do just that, taking the stairs as quickly as his little legs will take him until he's finally in his bedroom. The younger boy survey's the room with a critical eye, trying to discern the best spot for the picture. He pads around; holding the frame up on the wall in every possible spot yet is unable to come to a decision. Still ruminating over where would be best, he figures mummy would be able to help him as he heads back down the stairs with the picture.

He gets to the second step, when his foot slips on the carpet of the stairs and he falls. The resulting cry carries harshly through the entire house, as does the sound of the fall itself. Madame Holmes and Mycroft come at once to investigate. They find Sherlock crying, sprawled on the bottom of the stairs, the framed picture in shards and blood staining the carpet.

"Sherlock," Madame Holmes swoops down on him, scooping the little boy in her arms his hand bleeding from a large cut. "What where you doing, cher?" she asks, taking him into the kitchen to get him cleaned up, Mycroft trotting off to fetch the first aid kit.

"I…I," He sniffles around his tears, "Couldn't figure out where to hang my new picture and… and…" Sherlock sucks in a large breath, "I was coming to ask you to help, but now… now it's ruined." He sobs, more worried about the broken picture then his injured hand.

"It'll be alright," She informs him, whipping the tears off his face as she sits him on the counter next to the sink. "It was just a picture," she turns on the tap letting the water run as Sylvia bustles into the room.

"What happened?" Sylvia asks, worry evident.

"Sherlock had a bit of a tumble, there's broken glass on the stairs if you could make sure it's tidied."

"Of course Madame," Sylvia nods, exiting to take care of it.

"I… I stained the carpet," Sherlock breathes his head bowed, as his hand is held under the cold water to rinse it out.

"I'm sure it'll come out, don't fret." Madame Holmes placates him.

Mycroft enters, then with the kit, "Here, mummy," he hands the kit.

"Thank you, Mycroft." She opens the case to procure the tweezers. "Now we have to make sure there's no glass in here, understand," She asks, nudging Sherlock to look at her. She cleans the wound clinically, being as thorough as possible.

Sherlock's still crying softly, his mind still focused on how his brand new picture is ruined forever.

"It's ok, Sherly," Mycroft offers, at a loss as what to do to help.

"No it's not, it's gone forever." He pouts, "I knew I should have held the railing, but I was looking at the picture and my stupid socks…" Sherlock huffs, angrily his foot banging the cupboard below.

"Relax Sherlock, we'll have to go to the store again anyway to get more bandages so this heals properly." She states, bandaging the inch long cut on his palm. "I'm sure they'll have another."

"No they won't!" Sherlock looks up, more tears rolling out of him, "This was the only one…the best one."

Madame Holmes smiles gently at him, pushing the curls off his forehead gently in a soothing manner. Mycroft's mates showed up during the incident, and where led into the kitchen.

"Oh, hello boys," Madame Holmes greets the other two teens.

"Madame Holmes," they politely reply in unison.

"Caught us at a bad time I'm afraid," she explains the state of her youngest.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, mate," Jeffery winks at Sherlock, earning him a glare that causes the older boy's face to fall instantly.

"Is it ok if I go?" Mycroft asks, looking from his mother to his distraught brother who was investigating his newly dressed wound. "I can stop at the shop if you'd like," he offers.

"That's very sweet of you," She beams.

"We're heading that way any way," Davey informs her as they move to leave.

"Well, thank you boys," She nods, "Alright, come along Cher, let's find something to occupy you," She lifts Sherlock off the counter, huffing slightly, "You're starting to get too big for this." She admits, shifting him on her hip Sherlock dejectedly holding on to her with his uninjured hand.

Mycroft returns less than an hour later, it had started to rain so his mates decided to call it a day. He dropped off the bandages and such in the kitchen before going in search of his brother. He found Sherlock curled up on the window seat, his knees tucked up to his chest and his chin resting on them as he stared at out the rain covered window. The book he'd been reading long ago forgotten.

"Sherlock," Mycroft calls softly, "I've got a surprise for you." He sits next to his brother. Sherlock turns his head to look at the older boy. Mycroft pulls out a framed picture that's identical to the one that was broken. Sherlock's eyes lit up as he took the picture delicately with his unwrapped hand. "Oh and…" Mycroft pulls out a chocolate lolli.

"Thanks 'Croft," Sherlock hugs him quickly before un-wrapping the sweet and gazing happily at his pirate ship picture.

Mycroft smiled, "You know," he began after a beat, "That might scar."

Sherlock nods silently, starring at the wrapped hand.

"All the best pirates have scars," he smirks, at the small boy as Sherlock looks at his injury in a new light. "Let's go find a place for this, hmm?" He stands waiting.

"Can you carry it for me?" Sherlock asks quietly holding up the picture, the reason clear while unspoken.

"Of course," Mycroft agrees as they head upstairs together.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

:)REVIEW(:


	17. The ring

AN: This is for Strawberry1812's request about Mycroft's ring.

Also, for those interested... Ch.9 is being elaborated on in a new story called "Seven Percent"... Ch.2 is now up. (Ch 1 is the same as Ch. 9 in this story.)

Thanks...Enjoy.

Sherlock:25 Mycroft:32

* * *

><p>Sherlock's been clean for a while now, but Mycroft still feels the need to pop in on his brother; whether the younger man likes it or not. He waits in the dimly lit flat, eyeing various hazards that are strewn about the tiny living space. It was barley habitable and seemed too close in resemblance to a crack den, for Mycroft's liking. It was really about time his brother found a more respectable inhabitance.<p>

Clearing away various mess from one of the leather chairs, the elder Holmes sits like a sentinel, poised umbrella in hand. Finally, Mycroft heard the treading of shoes on the stairs as he straightened himself to keep up his appearance.

"This is getting old, Mycroft." Sherlock greets him, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his coat.

"Good to see you too, dear brother." Mycroft smirks, earning an eye roll. "Though I do think a move is in order," he suggests, sweeping a disgusted eye over the flat.

"As you can see I'm alive," Sherlock spreads his arms dramatically, as if presenting himself for inspection, "Yes, I'm still clean, no, I'm still smoking." As if to punctuate the last statement he rustles through his pockets to retrieve the aforementioned cigarette, promptly lighting it up.

"Excellent," Mycroft nods in pleasure, "I recommend nicotine patches, however," he adds with spinning his umbrella absently between his fingers.

"Hmm…Leaving where you, shame…" Sherlock dismisses him, yet refusing to remove his coat or take a seat.

"Have you eaten?" The elder man asks his words implying more than he says, as he eyes his brother suspiciously.

"As if you don't already know," the younger man huffs, glancing out the window with his back turned.

"Contrary to what you think, I do not have the interior of your flat under surveillance."

"Of course not," Sherlock states coolly, "Just ever street, tube station, cab and this room." He glares over his shoulder at his brother. "Though I suppose I should thank you for not monitoring my bed room." He smirks sarcastically.

Mycroft raises a brow at the last comment, before dismissing it. "My only concern…" he starts.

"Is that I'm clean, yes, brother I know." Sherlock haughtily cuts him off.

"Is your well being," he finishes with a tired sigh.

"Save the act for mummy, have fun reporting back to her." He shoos.

"Is it so hard to believe that I actually care, really Sherlock," Mycroft shakes his head rising from his seat. "Mummy's not the only one who worries, you know."

"Don't you have a country to blow up or a wedding to plan?" Sherlock asks flippantly, as he continues to gaze out the window.

"A wedding?" Mycroft questions, before looking at the hand wresting atop of his umbrella and the new accessory placed there; realization hitting him, "Oh, that."

"Discouraging advances?" The thin figure turns facing the older man with his piercing gaze. "Or perhaps it's just not on for a man of your age and …position to not be settled, as they say." He smirks darkly, "How eloquent, a man trained to lie, lying to those whose job is to find the truth, only to lie about it."

"You really want to play this game, Sherly?" Mycroft asks in a bored tone, he really had no time for this childishness.

"You aren't allowed to call me that," Sherlock grits out, once again facing the window.

"My apologies," He offers cordially, "Good bye, Sherlock… Do try to eat something," he moves to the door. "We'll be in touch," he adds before taking his leave.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

:)REVIEW(:


	18. Bees

AN: This is for Strawberry1812's request about Mycroft's ring.

Also, for those interested... Ch.9 is being elaborated on in a new story called "Seven Percent"... Ch.2 is now up. (Ch 1 is the same as Ch. 9 in this story.)

Thanks...Enjoy.

Sherlock:6 Mycroft:13

* * *

><p>Mycroft was babysitting Sherlock and had decided to take the annoying ball of energy into the wooded area by the pond to explore. He warned him to stay on the path, but that was like telling a headless chicken not to run around. It happened quickly, Mycroft was pointing out an interesting bird when Sherlock disappeared into the bracken.<p>

"Sherlock!" Mycroft yells, following trodden ground that Sherlock left in his wake. "This is not funny, get back here this instant." He huffs, heading in deeper to find his brother.

"'Croft, look!" Sherlock calls from his perch on a tree branch that's housing a beehive.

Mycroft stops, looking on in horror as his little brother watches the bees with rapt curiosity. "Get down there now," He hisses, hardly breathing.

"Its fine," Sherlock huffs, "They only sting if you threaten them," he rolls his eyes.

"Must I remind you that I'm allergic," Mycroft breathes harshly not daring to move.

"I'll come down," He sighs in exasperation, because he wanted to get a closer look.

"I'll meet you back near the trail," he walks off quickly not waiting for the younger boy.

Mycroft waits wondering vaguely what could be taking Sherlock so long to climb back down, when he catches the unruly dark pop running towards him at top speed.

"I'm sorry 'Croft, but you're going to have to run!" Sherlock pants out barreling towards him.

"What have you done," Mycroft breathes with incredulity, before taking off down the path with the sound of buzzing ringing in his ears.

"I didn't mean to it fell," Sherlock defends himself as they run back towards the pond.

The elder boy's fear and imagination gets the better of him as he sprints faster heading straight for the pond before jumping in. He stays under as long as possible before he emerges, completely soaked, to find his brother laughing. "Are they gone?"

"They were gone have way down the trail," Sherlock admits between giggles.

"Sherlock," Mycroft warns as he trudges angrily out of the pond.

"It was an accident, the hive fell when I was getting down, honest."

"Regardless, we're going home."

"Are you cross, 'Croft?" Sherlock asks sheepishly, Mycroft shooting him a warning look as they trudge home.

In the end, Mycroft gets a cold from his pond excursion and Sherlock leaves Curie on the nightstand, on loan as an apology.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

:)REVIEW(:


	19. Wedding Bells

Sherlock: 5

Mycroft: 12

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><p>"Is this over yet 'Croft?" Sherlock squirms, pulling at the bowtie around his neck.<p>

"No, now leave that alone," he orders, "It's about to start and it's just like you rehearsed yesterday, remember?"

Sherlock nods glumly, tucking the pillow under his arm as the music starts. Mycroft leads him to his spot in the cue, making sure the pillow is held properly before leaving his side. The music starts, Sherlock and the flower girl walking side by side down the aisle, the pillow once again shoved under his arm. The flower girl gets distracted by her task of throwing petals and stops halfway down as Sherlock continues on before noticing her absence.

The little girls mum was about to come to the rescue, when Sherlock marches back toward her. Quickly snatching the basket from her hands and tugging her down the rest of the aisle. "Focus woman," he instructs her tensely. The church chuckling at the adorable scene while the Holmes' are pleased that didn't end horribly.

The wedding proceeds without a hitch after that, though somehow Sherlock's tie gets untied half way through the service. Unfortunately pictures are snapped as the procession leaves, Mycroft idly wondering whose idea it was to put a bowtie on a five year old. The bride happily reties the necktie for Sherlock who pouts the whole time, making the woman laugh and kiss his cheek.

Glaring he wipes it off as the groom enters for the pictures, "Hey now, no steeling my wife little man," he jokes.

"I'm never gunna get married." Sherlock replies superiorly, frowning as they laugh.

"I said the same thing at your age," the groom winks.

"Your resolve is terrible," he mumbles crossing his arms to the shared amusement of the wedding party and not understanding why they don't believe him.

Finally the tedious picture taking is over and Mycroft comes to collect him for the reception. Sherlock instantly undoes his tie with his free hand, "What's the point of this 'Croft?"

"People who love each other feel the need to make it known and share it with others," he informs the younger boy.

"Why?" Sherlock questions curiously.

"I dunno...So they can share their meaningless lives and try not to die alone, I suppose."

"Well, It's awful… I don't want to do this ever again."

"Me neither," Mycroft agrees.

"Let's never get married."

"Never's an awfully long time, Sherly…"

"I know that," Sherlock pouts, hating be treated like a baby. "Promise me 'Croft," he stomps his foot, "We'll just be brothers forever and have adventures until you get too old or too lazy!"

"Very well, Sherlock," Mycroft shakes his head, placating his brother.

"Good," he grins, "Oh and Curie's invited too," he adds remembering his stuffed creature.

"Of course…"

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

:)REVIEW(:


	20. Sick

Present

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><p>Sherlock had been working on back to back cases and was now going on four days straight, which of course meant he hadn't been sleeping. John had warned him not to overdo it, but that was promptly ignored and it was clear that the lack of sleep was taking a toll. It seemed to be manifesting itself into a cold, Sherlock's voice was obviously raspy and he was doing his best to hide the symptoms from John.<p>

It was ridiculous; he would work himself into the grave just to prove John wrong. As a precaution, John went to procure some medicine for the idiot to take, leaving the "genius" to pour over the summation of the evidence. While out at the shop John received a short and simple text from Sherlock informing him that the case had in fact been solved and to get tissues.

John arrived back to a sauna, checking the thermostat and lowering it a normal temperature. "Sherlock, it's sweltering," he complains, moving to the kitchen to put away the shopping. It's quiet in the flat he realizes moving to the main room, "Sherlock?" he calls again, finding the man curled up in his chair, sleeping soundly. He watches him for a moment, "Sherlock, I'm going to check you temperature," John informs him, receiving a murmured affirmative as he crosses the room. Placing his hand on Sherlock's warm forehead he notices the chest congestion that's setting in and that the other man is bundled up in a thick blanket and seems to be wearing one of John's own jumpers.

"Cold," Sherlock mumbles as if he could read John's mind.

"Not surprising," John smirks dryly. "Alright," he breathes, "Up you get," he takes Sherlock's arm to help him to his feet. "Bed," he adds, "Doctor's orders."

"Fine," Sherlock huffs as he allows John to maneuver him.

"I'll get you settled and be in to check on you when you wake up later," John soothes, as they make their way to the hall way.

They're in the hall when they hear a knock at the door out front. Sherlock groaning as he rests his head dramatically on John's shoulder. "Mycroft," he pouts.

"Sleep, now," he says sternly, opening the door to Sherlock's bedroom, "I'll take care of it."

Sherlock smirks slightly as he sniffles, "Thanks, love," He rasps, slipping into his room, John closing the door behind him, shaking his head at the sick idiot. Mycroft climbing the stairs as John turns.

"What's going on?" Mycroft asks instantly.

"Sherlock's sleeping," John hushes, leading the other Holmes into the sitting room. "Tea?" he offers, heading to the kitchen.

"No thank you, Doctor," he insinuates, "Now, pray, what is going on? I am in need of Sherlock's assistance…"

"Well, that's going to have ta wait…Your brother, the dumb git he is," he turns on the kettle, "Is sick, might be just a cold, but the congestion isn't sounding good, I haven't…"

"How did you let this happen?" Mycroft accuses him.

"Come again?" he faces the other man.

"You're a doctor, are you not?"

"Sherlock barley listens to any one, he was on a case and I warned him that he needed to sleep; what was I to do knock him unconscious?"

"A simple sedative would do," Mycroft dismisses.

"Right, drug him why didn't I think of that?" John rolls his eyes, at the absurdity of the man before him. "The case is over, and he won't be doing another till he's well."

"Very well, I'll call tomorrow then."

"Alright," John tells him as he steeps the tea, "But only if he's up to it," he adds sternly.

Mycroft sizes John up, "Of course," he adds with a forced smile before taking his leave.

"What'd he want?" Sherlock asks later, while John checks him over.

"Didn't say really," John sighs, before instructing Sherlock to take a deep breath as he listens to his chest, "Says he'll come 'round tomorrow."

"Unavailable," he rasps, coughing a bit.

"I told him, it was only if you're up to it."

"Hmm…" Sherlock hums tiredly laying back on the pillows.

"Well you have a sinus infection," John states clinically, "That means fluids and rest," he orders. "I wrote you a script, and I'll get it filled for you."

"You are bossy," he breathes his eyes already closed.

"No, I'm a doctor," he smirks, "No get some sleep, I'll let Mycroft know you won't be up to tomorrow."

"Thank you John."

John returns his items to his kit and creeps out of Sherlock's room to find his phone in order to text Mycroft.

To: M.H.

It's a sinus infec…

Tomorrow no good.

-J.W.

There's no reply, at least not to his phone, Sherlock's going off shortly thereafter. The next day a delivery arrives with explicit instructions; John opening it to find a container of soup for the ailing man.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

:)REVIEW(:


	21. Home Alone

For Spica Celeste(s) prompt... Hope you like it!

Sherlock: 16

Mycroft: 23

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><p>Sherlock was quite excited, his parents were going away for a week and he was going to be all by himself. Not even Sylvia would be there and Mycroft was busy with work; so he had free reign to do as he pleased. After his parents left, reminding him of the rules and not to burn the place down in their absence he roamed the house.<p>

There was a nice calm about the place when it's completely empty, he roamed from room to room and investigated. Sherlock looked through everything, his parent's desks, cupboards, closets and even Mycroft's old room. He ended up in his bedroom looking for the next thing to occupy his time when he decided that since no one was around, clothing became completely optional.

He stripped down; grabbing his sheet for some form of modesty as there was no telling where he'd end up in the house later. The whole thing was quite liberating and he decided that he enjoyed the solitude of the empty house. Sherlock entertained himself for three days, following any whim he had with no retribution and it was glorious.

It was great until he his stomach began to hurt, thinking back he couldn't remember eating over the past three days. That was nothing too odd, but still a pretty big stretch for him to go without even a snack in there somewhere. Sherlock went off thinking it was probably just hunger making him feel bad and made himself a sandwich. The food did not have the desired effect however and he felt worse than before.

A wave of nausea hit and he made it just in time to expel the sandwich into the kitchen sink. Why did he have to get sick when he was finally allowed to be home alone, he thought to himself. Trudging up the stairs he figured sleep would do him good and curled up in his bed. Sleep eluded him, however, the pain in his abdomen becoming more acute.

He took a calming breath, trying to work past the pain and think clearly. As much as he didn't want to he knew his only option was to call his brother, or else worry his parents for no reason.

"Hello?" The familiar voice answers.

"Mycroft," Sherlock breathes, white knuckling the phone.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft sounds taken aback, "What is it?"

"I think I'm dying," he admits.

"As unlikely as that is, why do you think you're dying?" He prods, bored.

"My stomach hurts and…"

"You're probably just hungry," Mycroft cuts him off, "Eat something."

"I did," Sherlock snaps, "Then I was sick in the sink," he breathes, "I may have a fever… it hurts, 'Croft." He admits quietly.

"Where's Sylvia?" The elder asks, knowing full well that their parents are out of the country.

"She's visiting family."

The line is silent for a full minute, "I'll be there in about an hour, try to rest."

"Ok," Sherlock breathes.

"Oh, and you better not be faking this," Mycroft warns before ringing off.

Sherlock returns to his bed, trying to breathe through the pain in his abdomen and wishing it would just stop. Luckily he falls asleep, it's hardly restful, but the unconsciousness dulls the pain a bit. Mycroft races out of the office, he'd been working late and was thankful that his brother hadn't called during something important.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft calls through the dark house when he arrives, turning on the lights as he climbs the stairs to his brother's room. "Sherlock?" He calls again, knocking gently as he enters the room.

" 'Croft," Sherlock painfully replies.

"Feeling any better?" He asks, crossing the room and turning on the bed side lamp to get a better look at his brother. Sherlock is pale, with a fine sheen of sweat on his skin, and his face is pained.

"Told you I'm dying…"

"One moment," Mycroft tells him, heading off to procure the thermometer and checking his brother's temperature. Sherlock was never one to get fevers unless something was gravely wrong, so when the device beeped and 42 degrees Celsius it was definitely not good. "I had to inform Sherly," he begins, "But I think we need to take you to the A and E."

Sherlock closes his eyes tightly at the news; he'd always hated hospitals of any kind. "I'm fine…" he mumbles.

"Of course you are," the older boy placates him, as he helps him up from the bed.

Mycroft gets his brother into his shoes and bundles him up into the car. He drives as quickly as he can without attracting unwanted attention. Sherlock looks terrible and he can't stand seeing him like that. As soon as they arrive, he whisks the younger boy inside and demands he's seen to promptly.

An hour later, they're prepping Sherlock for surgery as the doctor informs Mycroft that it's severe appendicitis. While he waits anxiously he calls his parents and informs them of the emergency.

"Mycroft?" Madame Holmes answers, "What's going on?"

"Sherlock," he breathes, trying to organize his thoughts.

"What about him? What happened, cher?" She prompts trying to keep worry out of her tone. There's rustling on the other end as Mr. Holmes takes the phone.

"What's going on son?"

"It's appendicitis," his father's voice snaps him out of it enough to fill him in on the details. "Sherlock wasn't feeling well and I came out to check on him, they're operating now."

"Appendicitis?" Mr. Holmes clarifies.

"Yes, sir," Mycroft nods, "They said the symptoms seemed sudden due to how little he'd eaten the last couple days."

"It's only been three days," he sighs, "There's no way I can come back…your mother will be on the next flight home." Mr. Holmes informs him, "Keep us posted Mycroft, as soon as he's out."

"I will."

The call ends, Mycroft sitting anxiously in the waiting area with his hands under his chin. The whole ordeal seems to take ages. He sits there with his eyes closed, thinking every horrible though in the world and feeling completely helpless. Finally the doctor appears, Mycroft on his feet before the man's fully in the room.

"Mr. Holmes," the doctor begins , "It seems your brother is fine, he'll still be out for a while… but the procedure was routine, no hitches." He smiles warmly.

Mycroft releases a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, "Very good."

"He'll have to stay here for a couple days, its standard for such severe cases."

"Thank you doctor," he shakes the man's hand, the doctor taking his leave.

After a quick call to their parents he finds Sherlock's room and positions himself at his brother's bedside. Sherlock looked small for his 16 years, his dark hair the only contrast from the linens on the bed. It was a weird thing seeing all the tubes and monitors that where seemed more complicated than they really were. Mycroft stayed up the whole night, waiting for Sherlock to wake up. Finally around 4am the younger Holmes opened his eyes.

"'Croft?" he rasps.

"I'm here Sherlock, you're fine now," he tries to reassure him, "Appendicitis."

"Did you ask them to jar it?" Sherlock ask eagerly.

"Of course," Mycroft smirks, handing him the small jar.

"Brilliant," he hums, observing the removed organ.

"Quite the specimen…"

"Mhmm…" Sherlock's quiet for a beat, "Did you call them?" he asks quietly, knowing the answer.

"I had to Sherly," Mycroft informs him gently, "Mummy's on her way as we speak."

"But not father…"

"He had the summit; you know how it is…"

Sherlock idly fiddles with the jar, his eyes down cast as he takes in the information. "He'll never let me stay by myself again."

"That's not true," Mycroft admonishes, "You handled this very well Sherlock, don't forget that."

"No I didn't," he mumbles, "I had to call you."

"There's nothing wrong with asking for help."

Sherlock falls quiet once again a frown still upon his features; leaving Mycroft no idea how to remedy it.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

:)REVIEW(:


	22. Date

For Alakari(s) prompt... ENJOY

Sherlock: 15

Mycroft: 22

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><p>"Why don't you date her, if it's so important?" Sherlock pouts in the mirror as he fixes his hair.<p>

"I can't Sherly, she's the same age as you I'm sure you'll find something in common." Mycroft informs him from the other room.

"I prefer my romantic entanglements to be with older persons, can't we switch?" He strides out, looking well groomed.

"That's out of the question and you know it, you are to escort Miss Violet to the cinema and be a perfect gentleman… Do try to not insult her." He warns, "Her sister Rosemary and I will be chaperoning, that is all."

"I don't even want to go," Sherlock sighs weightily.

"That's just a part of life, Sherlock… Now she's the daughter of one of father's associates and she has a crush on you, it won't kill you to be polite to her."

"It might…" He glares earning another warning look from his brother, "I barely even know her 'Croft, all she did at the party last week was stare at me from across the room and eat way too many sweets."

"Irrelevant," Mycroft sighs, shooing his brother out of the room, "We're going now, and I won't have you make us late."

The brother's arrive at the Byrne's right on time, where they're quickly ushered into the parlor. Polite greetings are exchanged with Mr. and Mrs. Byrne while the girls finish prepping. Finally the sisters make an appearance a good ten minutes later.

"You look very handsome, Sherlock," Violet blushes after eyeing the slender boy.

"You look…" Sherlock begins, eyeing the girl while searching for the proper terms, "…Healthy."

Luckily Mycroft handled the parents and all quite well and the four of them were on their way to the cinema.

"How are your studies?" Mycroft asks Rosemary.

"Almost finished actually," She smiles, "Paris is lovely, but can't help but miss home sometimes too."

"Any particular area?"

"Patisserie," Rosemary informs him, "I always loved baking and soon it'll be my job."

"Mycroft knows all about sweets," Sherlock interjects, "Don't you?"

The elder Holmes ignores the comment in order to purchase the tickets. Finding their, seats after Violet insists on getting popcorn, Mycroft and Rosemary sit a row back and over from their younger counterparts. Sherlock is pleased to find the feature is already starting; leaving no room for trite conversations. What he didn't count on was for Violet to attempt to molest him in the darken theater half way through the film.

"What are you doing?" He hisses, moving her hands away from his person.

"Come on, the tension between us is palpable." Violet smirks, moving closer again.

"Tension?" Sherlock questions, mildly dumbstruck at the girl's stupidity, "I hardly know you."

"Don't play coy, I saw you starring at that party," a predatory look in her eyes as her hand slides up his thigh. "I'd kiss you, but they'd see," she giggles and casts a glance over to her sister and Mycroft.

"Stop it, this is very un-lady like," Sherlock offers, unsure what to do in this situation.

"I'll show you just how un-lady like I can be," Violet punctuates as her hand brushes the front of his trousers.

The action cause Sherlock to bolt straight out of his seat, "Do not put your repugnant hands on me woman!" He snaps before fleeing the theater.

Violet stared after him in shock, Mycroft excusing himself to find out what had happened. He finds his brother pacing wildly in the corridor, his features hardened.

"What's going on Sherlock?"

"That crazy girl, for reasons unknown, was earnestly trying to…" He huffs in frustration, "Have her way with me, I suppose."

"Really?" Mycroft asks in mild surprise, you wouldn't have thought the girl capable of such behavior.

"Yes, and she got a pretty good feel too…" He crosses his arms, "The stupid cow misread my blatant disinterest for mutual attraction," he seethes, "I want to go home."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Rosemary comes out into the hall to find out what's going on. "Ah Rosemary," Mycroft keeps his brother's eye for a second longer before turning to the young lady. "I'm afraid there have been some unwarranted attentions, we may need to cut the night short."

"I see," She smiles knowingly, wrongly assuming the teens had hit it off, "I'll collect Violet."

The silence in the car is insufferable, Sherlock pressed so far against the car door he could fall out. Violet keeps looking at him, confusion still quite evident in her small mind. Mycroft still does his best to chat idly in the front with Rosemary, who seems to at least be the more normal of the two sisters.

Arriving back at the Byrne's Mycroft escorts the ladies to their front door as Sherlock remains unmoving in the vehicle. "Violet says she'll be in touch," Mycroft smirks, driving them home.

"I'll tell her I died, of dysentery from her grubby hands," Sherlock jibes.

"I must say, the evening did go better than I'd expected," he chuckles.

"I'm glad my discomfort is amusing to you," the younger boy pouts.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

:)REVIEW(:


	23. Crime Scene

For TadPole11

Present day

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><p>"What are you doing here?" Sherlock sneered from the ground as he observes the body.<p>

"John texted me, wanted to make sure you didn't get yourself killed." Mycroft stated simply, "I take it he's under the weather."

"That's none of your business," He snaps, rising to his feet. Lestrade wanders over to the two brothers.

"Ah, Lestrade," the elder greets.

"Mycroft," he nods, shaking the man's hand. "So what have ya got for us Sherlock?"

Sherlock spares a brief glance at his brother before addressing the D.I. "He's a widower, two kids…"

Mycroft interjects, "Remarried for 2 years from Surrey, if you find the children…"

"Yes, you'll find the killer," Sherlock snaps, "And it was three years."

"Two Sherly, his first wife has been dead for three."

"Oh." The younger man glances at the body his mouth a thin line, "You know John never interrupts," he hisses, aside.

"I'm not going to feed your ego, I'm only here on his behalf."

Lestrade looks between the brothers with mild humor, "Right.. I'll get on that then."

"Keep me posted," Sherlock calls already striding away from the crime scene, texting John.

"He can be so childish," Mycroft shakes his head, earning a chuckle from Lestrade.

John groans from under the covers as his ringtone interrupts his cough medicine induced sleep. Blurrily he opens the message and can't help but smirk at the content.

NewMSG:

You aren't

Allowed to be

Sick…EVER AGAIN!

-SH

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

:)REVIEW(:


	24. Crawl

Inspired by CharmingKarma (s) prompt

Sherlock 1

Mycroft 8

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><p>"What's wrong with him?" Mycroft asks his mummy as they watch his little brother play on the blanket.<p>

"What do you mean brolly?" Madame Holmes questions warmly.

"You said when I was his age I was crawling everywhere… Sherly rolls."

"Ah," she chuckles softly, "Everyone has their own of doing thing, cher," she informs him. "It gets him to where he wants to go does it not?" As if on cue, Sherlock rolls himself from one side of the blanket to the other to procure a different toy.

"I suppose," Mycroft watches curiously, an idea hitting him. "Maybe he just needs to be shown what to do," he offers.

"Maybe," Madame Holmes nods, "Don't push him though," she warns, "he'll do it in his own time."

The boy nods eagerly, leaving his mother's side and crawling towards his baby brother. "Like this, Sherly," he instructs crawling around the infant, Sherlock giggling happily.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	25. Dip

Present(ish)

* * *

><p>No one's sure how exactly it happened, one minute they're cornering a suspect with Mycroft; the next he's in Thames. At that moment, Lestrade is jogging up with a couple coppers and blatant confusion as he takes in the scene before him. Without a word, Sherlock undoes his scarf and hands John his coat.<p>

"Wha's going on," Lestrade questions, looking wildly between them.

"Damn it 'Croft," Sherlock huffs under his breath, than dramatically jumps in after his brother.

"Haven't the foggiest," John shrugs in mild shock at his mate's sudden departure.

When John and the other make it down to the embankment, a very waterlogged and aggravated Sherlock is dragging an equally wet Mycroft out of the drink.

"What the hell where you thinking?" Sherlock huffs as they breathe heavily on the shore.

"It wasn't a choice, Sherlock," Mycroft sputters.

"Alright," Lestrade looks about still confused, "Someone tell me what the hell's going on."

"The giant idiot can't swim," Sherlock snaps as if it should be obvious.

"Really?" John asks, taken aback.

"I never learned," Mycroft states airily, trying to regain his composure and tame his now mused appearance.

"Yes, and as humorous as that is…" The consulting detective breathes, John helping him to his feet, "You've let the suspect get away," he accuses the D.I.

"I sent some of the boys after 'em, I'm not completely useless," Lestrade assures him.

"You really never learned?" John wonders, still surprised at the revelation; Sherlock barley concealing the amused smirk that John's question incurs.

"Do shut up," Mycroft snaps, getting unsteadily to his feet.

The outburst earns him a glare from the younger Holmes, "Hmm.." Sherlock hums thoughtfully, "I think next time I'll simply allow you to drown or at least flail about, could be interesting," he smirks, "Probably sink like a stone, though…" he offers, clearly sizing Mycroft up, "Coming John?" he throws back striding away from his brother.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	26. Blades

Inspired by Majorbookluver(s) prompt (pretty much the same just not present day)

Sherlock: 5

Mycroft: 12

* * *

><p>"I'll get ye ya bloody scoundrel," Sherlock squeaked, chasing after his brother with the bow to his violin like a sword.<p>

"I'll have you clamped in irons, you deplorable pirate!" Mycroft brandishes the umbrella.

"What's that mean 'Croft," he asks aside of the game, lifting up his eye patch.

"It means very bad," he offers simply.

"Oh…" Sherlock nods before slipping back into character, "You can't defeat the dread pirate Vernet!" he threatens, climbing onto the couch to reach his brother's height.

"You forget, I have the whole of the British Navy at my command…Give up now, your ship is no match for me." Mycroft points the tip of the umbrella at the younger boy, in good fencing form.

"Ha-Ha! I laugh at your feeble attempts," Sherlock sneers, "I'll have your head for the shrinking!" He moves to lunge with a flick of the violin bow.

To the brother's surprise, the strike is halted mid air by their very cross mother, "What do you think you're doing?" She asks incredulously. "Sherlock Holmes, how many times must I tell you…Your violin is not a to be played with."

"I know not this, Sherlock person," He replies haughtily, "I'm Captain Vernet, the most dreaded pirate on sea or land!"

"Well, Captain," Madame Holmes tersely plays along, "You're to be confined to your quarters."

"Mummy…" Sherlock whines.

"Aller!" She orders, pointing him out of the room. Sherlock stomps off with a racket as she turns her attentions to her eldest. "Same goes for you too Commander," she states expectantly. "You're the elder brother, Mycroft… I don't mind you boys playing, but you should know better." Madame Holmes chastises him, "Umbrella's and bow's are not proper swords."

"Yes ma'am," Mycroft nods shuffling his feet, than following after his brother.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	27. PAW

For CrashNBurn(s) prompt

Sherlock: 8

Mycroft: 15

* * *

><p>"Vie, I can't believe you…" Madame Holmes chides her sister as they watch the boys play with the new puppy.<p>

"Come on Mar," Vie smiles warmly, "It'll teach them responsibility," she offers as explanation.

"Or wind up cut open, and dead," She brandishes the creature she's mending.

"Mycroft wouldn't allow it," She chuckles.

"That's some comfort, I suppose…" Madame Holmes smiles, as she patches up Curie's wounded arm.

""Croft, that's a terrible name," Sherlock groans as the puppy happily licks his face.

"Winston is a fine, respectable name." He informs the younger man, "And much better than Calico Jack."

"Is not, that's a great first mate name."

"He's not your pirate brethren, Sherly," Mycroft reminds him, rubbing the puppies belly.

"So you say…" Sherlock pouts, thinking of another name. "What about Revenge?" He states dramatically.

"We aren't naming an innocent creature something so… unsavory," The older boy dismisses. "What about Montage or Brunel?"

"How about Hydrogen Cook?"

Mycroft blinks at his brother for a beat, "Did you really just combine an element and a Captain?"

Sherlock shrugged his little shoulders, "It's my favorite element."

"Why?"

"Just is," he explains as the puppy nips and rolls around happily.

"What if we combined them…" Mycroft suggests, pondering for a moment. "Calico, Alfred, Percival…"

"Cap?" Sherlock clarifies the shortened version.

"Yes, we'll call him Cap, but it's actually an acronym."

The boys play around with various words before deciding on the best one, scooping up the puppy to present their decision.

"You boys pick a name?" Vie asks, receiving nods from both boys.

"Let's hear it then?" Madame Holmes waits.

"May we introduce," Mycroft starts dramatically.

"Pirate Argon Winston," Sherlock reveals excitedly.

"Paw, for short," the older boy clarifies, for the surprised ladies.

"Well it's certainly interesting," their mother chuckles a bit.

"I think it's adorable," Vie scoops up the puppy to pet it, "Paw," she smiles.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	28. Pastries and Promises

For Tadpole11(s) prompt

Sherlock: 20

Mycroft: 28 (his birthday's in April, in my head and Sherlock's is in October)

Takes place over the summer Sherlock spends with Mycroft with his internship etc from my other story Seven Percent...

* * *

><p>With Sherlock staying during the summer break, Mycroft had even less time for social engagements. Indeed it was also harder to keep thing about his private life, private. Sherlock possessed great observations skills, though not as good as his own; his brother however, had the need to call people out on what he discovered. Mycroft, on the other hand, was content on knowing and only calling upon such knowledge when it proved extremely important or useful to him. That's why he had to be careful.<p>

On Mummy's heavy handed insinuations and twist of fate, he had bumped into one Rosemary Byrne and had a date of sorts. Nothing fancy, simply two old acquaintances meeting for coffee at the Ladies small business. Mycroft made sure he had ample time during his allotted, and usually worked through, lunch hour to arrive promptly on time. In all honesty he was a bit, not nervous per say, but uneasy.

"Mycroft," She greets warmly, removing her apron and coming around the counter. "Welcome to my humble bakery."

"Rosemary, lovely as ever," He smiles charmingly, "Now, what do you recommend? I'm sure they're all delicious."

"You," Rosemary, playfully swats him, as they peruse the displays. "Well I think the first question should be coffee or tea?"

After carefully deciding, they sit together at a little café table in a more secluded section, as not to be disturbed.

"You've certainly changed," Rosemary smiles as she eyes the man appraisingly.

"A good thing I hope," he returns her smile, "Glad to see your dream has become a reality."

"Ah, yes… Sometimes I can't believe it myself." She sips her drink, "Though from the looks of things you're doing quite well yourself… Especially if our mothers are to be believed," she jests.

"No complaints," Mycroft offers, "Though I doubt any women gossip more than those two…"

"No, it's quite a sport for them, I suppose," They chuckle. "How's little Sherlock?"

"Daunting as ever," he sighs wishing to avoid this topic.

"Ah some things never change," Rosemary states fondly, "I heard he got into a bit of trouble, I hope everything is alright," she offers with genuine concern as she places her hand on his arm.

"Yes, thank you," Mycroft nods with tight smile, then skillfully sways the conversation, "He's actually staying with me, he has an internship at St. Bart's."

"Oh that's brilliant!" Rosemary explains as the mood shifts, "Always so clever… still handsome as ever?"

"I wouldn't know," he states tersely.

"You'll have to forgive me," she soothes, "I was given specific orders from Vi to inquire."

"Violet," Mycroft chuckles fondly, "Still pining I see."

"Yes, bit obsessive, poor thing…"

"She's certainly patient."

"That's a term for it," Rosemary smirks.

The conversation moves on to other topics and time almost gets away from them, Mycroft called back to reality by a ding from his phone. "My apologies," he offers sincerely, "I'm afraid I'm need back in the office."

"Oh, of course," She nods, rising from her chair as she smoothes her hair, "We should definitely catch up again soon," Rosemary smiles.

"Perhaps dinner?" He implies tentatively.

"I think that could be arranged," She replies coyly.

"Wonderful, I'll call you and we can arrange something…"

"Perfect," Rosemary hugs him goodbye and they part ways.

The rest of Mycroft's day goes quite well, and before he knows it he's heading back home for the night. The pleasant mood is soon dispelled, however, by his annoying brother. Sherlock pauses, his sharp eyes scanning the older man critically as soon as Mycroft steps over the threshold.

"How was the lunch date?" He asks accusingly, following his brother to his study.

"It was just coffee, Sherlock." Mycroft sighs, knowing it was useless to hide it from his brother.

"Oh yes, flaky crumbs on your lapels from… French patisseries," Sherlock smirks triumphantly, "How is vulgar Violet's lovely sister?"

"None of your concern," he warns.

"Oh, she realize she's with the wrong Holmes then?" He jests playfully.

"I won't let you spoil this Sherly," Mycroft states superiorly.

"Dinner date then… that is if you get off your arse and call her."

With that, Mycroft closed the door to his study dramatically in his brother's face.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	29. Cold

For Allaycaya(s) prompt (Hope this fits what you where looking for)

Sherlock: 16

Mycroft: 23

* * *

><p>The party was boring. Stuffy business men with their stuffy families and still being treated like a child. Sherlock hated every minute of it, all the "kids" where off in there designated area and playing banal games; while he stared out the window sipping wine.<p>

"Oh, it's snowing again!" Violet exclaims, clutching his arm.

Sherlock looks disgusted at the hand upon his person, "Really, hadn't noticed," he intones sarcastically, slipping his arm out of her grasp briskly.

"You…" She giggles hideously.

"What's going on bor-Lock." Colin creeps up beside them at the window.

"It's snowing," Violet informs him.

"Ah yeah," the other boys peaks out at the window, "Think the ponds froze?"

"Unlikely," Sherlock stated like it was obvious.

"Come on, there's snow on the pond, it's frozen," Colin points out.

"What would you know?" Violet interjects, "Sherlock's right clever."

"Hardly it wouldn't support anyone of your…girth," he jibes, ignoring Violet's comment.

"Alright peter-pan, I bet you could flit across that… you're small enough."

"And you're clearly thick enough, Colin." Sherlock drains his glass and turns on his heel.

"I think a display is necessary," Colin grabs Sherlock roughly, locking him under his meaty arm.

"Unhand me," he struggles uselessly as he's led out of the main room and into the cold, some of the other kids following.

"What's going on Colin?" One of the boys calls.

"Proven a point," He replies, tightening his hold as they trudge through the snow.

They get to the edge of the pond, Colin releasing Sherlock from under his arm but holding onto the back of his collar and pushing him closer to the edge. "Come on, get to stepping," he chuckles.

"No," Sherlock fights obstinately, "I already know what a cold bath feels like, thanks."

"Fine, I'll help you then," Colin smirks shoving the lanky boy forward.

"What's going on out here?" Mycroft's voice carries just as Sherlock hits the frigid water.

"What ya know," The tormentor shrugs at the outcome.

Sherlock sits there for a beat in the shallower water, "I told you, you useless twat!" He chatters.

"What was that," Colin starts moving toward Sherlock.

"That's quite enough, Colin." Mycroft snaps, exuding his power at being the oldest there. "All of you inside, now," he orders, reaching out an arm to pull Sherlock out of the frigid waters.

"Yeah, it's almost midnight anyway," the younger boy sneers, pretending he was still in control of the situation, as the kids dispel.

"I'll be having a word with your father," Mycroft calls after the retreating boy. "Come along, Sherlock," he calls helping his brother out and doing his best not to get dripped on.

"Ttttat…" he tries, still livid as his body shakes against the cold. "Isss ccold," he sighs, giving up on his angry tirade.

"Let's get you inside." The older Holmes leads them back to the warm house and up stairs to Sherlock's room. He turns the water to hot and maneuvers the still clothe boy under the heated spray.

"Bbastard," Sherlock murmurs still angry at that ape Colin, as he shakes under the spray looking like a drowned cat.

"Calm down Sherly."

"What's going on here?" Mr. Holmes steps into the steamy little bathroom.

"That Colin kid, tossed him into the pond sir," Mycroft divulges.

"Hendricks' son?" He clarifies, "A prick just like his father…" he shakes his head, "No doubt you goaded him," He casts a look at his soaking son.

"Dddidn't," Sherlock pouts, as the water warms him.

"He's about to get sacked any way," Mr. Holmes offers, "Small miracles." He straightens his tie, "You have this under control, Mycroft?"

"Yes sir."

"I'll send Sylvia up; than you can return to the party if you wish… My study tomorrow, Sherlock, I want an explanation for this." He states gravely, sweeping from the room; Sherlock glaring after him.

"I'll stay if you'd like Sherly," Mycroft offers, his brother clearly warming up.

"It's fine 'Croft," he murmurs, standing up and striding out of the shower to divest himself of the sopping clothes. "I won't keep you…" Sherlock quickly changes into his warmest jimjams and takes the duvet off the bed to huddle on the floor by the fire.

"I doubt they'll miss me," Mycroft starts, sitting in the high back chair beside the fireplace.

At that moment Sylvia teeters in carrying a tray with hot chocolate and some treats. "You warming up dear?" She asks setting the tray down and fussing over the younger boy, who squirms uncomfortably. "I'll fetch the electric blanket, shall I," she offers, scooping up the sodden clothing and exiting the room to fetch the item.

Sherlock holds his warm mug between his hands blowing on it and watching the patterns in the rising steam, the brother's sitting in companionable silence as the fire dances before them. There's a riotous commotion coming from below, alerting them that it's now midnight.

"Happy New Year, 'Croft," Sherlock comments quietly.

"Happy New Year," he returns.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	30. Tidy

Inspired by Ms. Chaos(s) prompt

Present day.

* * *

><p>Sherlock and John trudge back to Baker Street, slowly climbing the stairs to their fat; they had just closed a particularly daunting case. John wanted nothing more than to collapse in his chair and maybe order some food, if he didn't pass out first. The promise of that thought was John's main focus when he abruptly crashed into Sherlock's back at the threshold of the sitting room.<p>

"Oi," he huffs at the collision.

"John…" Sherlock intones, quiet and calm, the shorter man not able to see past the dark form in the door way. "Where is my gun?"

At that question, John stiffens into army mode assuming there's an intruder of some sort. "What? Why?"

"I'm finally going to murder my brother," he states matter of factually, piveting on his foot and sprinting up the stairs to John's bed room.

"You couldn't figure out where the cigarettes where hidden what makes you think you can find the gun?" He calls after him.

"Because you're obvious."

"Of course," John sighs.

With Sherlock out of the way, John steps somewhat cautiously into the room to find everything practically gleaming. The woods been polished and the bits of papers filed away, there's a pleasant sent all around and no experiments in sight. He heads to the kitchen to find more of the same, the chemistry set cleaned and organized, there's even a bit of kitchen table space available.

There's not even a body part to be found in microwave or fridge, and John's a bit pleased at this development. Turning to the counter, everything is all set for tea with the water already heated and a note on the tray next to the pot.

_No need to thank me, I'm sure it was more for health code reasons if anything. _

_-M.H._

"I wouldn't drink the tea," Sherlock startles John from the note, gun in hand, "It's probably poisoned," he states darkly.

"I doubt that, Sherlock," John sighs, turning the note over to find more writing on the back.

_The tea is not poisoned…And there are pancakes in the microwave. _

He shakes his head at the older Holmes uncanny ability of knowing everything, but it obviously runs in the family. "It's not," he holds up the note, "Mycroft sent it, and I'm sure he has more efficient ways of killing us if that's his motive…"

"You give him far too much credit, John," Sherlock drawls, glaring around the clean flat.

"Oh come off it, ninja's creeping in, in the cover of night is more up his street." He reaches up to peak into the microwave to find still warm pancakes. "Maybe it's just a nice gesture…"

"No, he knows I think better in clutter, this is…" he huffs trying to word his contempt, "appalling. And you watch too many spy films."

"I'm sure Mrs. Hudson will appreciate it," John smiles chuckling a bit, fixing the tea and inspecting the pancakes. Sherlock skulks off, climbing about in search of something. "What are you looking for, then?" he sighs tiredly, placing a plate of pancakes and a mug down for the mad man; then taking his own seat.

"Camera's John, obviously… do try to keep up," he tosses a book off the shelf to feel behind the volumes.

Rolling his eyes from his stuffed chair, he takes a bite of the pancakes, "You have got try these Sherlock," John groans, "Best pancakes I've had, ever."

Sherlock pauses narrowing his eyes, as he observes what's on the plate and realizing just what they are. "Mycroft's housekeeper made them," he feigns disinterest before taking up his own plate, "Albanian recipe."

"They're brilliant," he smirks; watching Sherlock perch on his chair and pick at them, gun in hand. "I think you should be thanking Mycroft not murdering him," he puts down his plate and picks up the paper.

"Don't worry; I'll make it look like an accident… or an old fashion assassination," He smirks to himself, fiddling with the sidearm, "He'd probably appreciate that."

"You at least put the bloody gun away please," John shoots him a look, "You can kill the nice man tomorrow."

"Whose side are you on?" Sherlock glares at him, the gun still in hand.

"No, no," He starts, "No sides, Sherlock, I'm staying out of this… Far as the two of you are concerned I'm Switzerland."

"Certainly explains the jumpers," he remarks, earning a warning look from John. "Though I could just shoot you now," he punctuates pointing the gun at the other man.

John rolls his eyes, shaking out the newspaper and holding it up in front of his face to continue reading, "Go on then, put me out of my misery," he huffs nonchalantly, "Only thing I ask… make it quick, I have more important things to do yea…"

"What things, you'd be dead."

"Minor detail," John shrugs, glad the news paper was hiding the humor on his face. "Don't forget to take the safety off."

"I'm not an idiot John," Sherlock snaps, drawing up his knees and sulking like a child as he drops the gun on the arm of his chair.

"Not on… pity, I could go for a nice shooting right about now…" he turns the page of his paper.

"Shut up," he orders.

"You going thank him or shall?" John asks, putting down the paper.

"So glad you find this intrusion on our privacy so humorous," Sherlock sneers, standing up from his chair, "Thank your conspirator if you want, I'm going to bed." He stomps from the room as John giggles to himself.

He hears a crash coming from Sherlock's room accompanied by loud obscenities directed at Mycroft and loud stomping before Sherlock reappears in his night clothes, "My room may need to be quarantined." He states irately before dropping onto the sofa and curling up with his back to the room.

John receives a text a little later, while he dozed in his chair.

Msg:

Sorry about the bedroom,

Couldn't resist…

-MH

Msg: Mycroft

Switzerland,

Place looks good tho

-JW

Msg:

Don't mention it.

-MH

"Stop fraternizing with enemy," Sherlock shouts into the room at the other man.

Msg: Mycroft

You will pay for this.

Would you like to wake up dead?

-SH

Msg:

If you're going to make

Threats, at least make plausible ones, brother.

-MH

Msg: Mycroft

Who says it's not…

Also, leave John alone.

-SH

Msg:

I can't promise that.

-MH

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.) Also feel free to through John in there too if ya want (present day only though for that)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	31. Cold 2

Small Continuation of Ch. 29 upon request...

* * *

><p>Sherlock over sleeps the next morning, a cold already setting in from the dip in the pond from the night before; and he was expected to speak with his father. The whole situation was ridiculous, he groaned as he rolled out of bed with the duvet still clutched around him and over his head. He drops it at the last possible second and jumps into the shower, turning the water as hot as he can handle. Dressing quickly he skids down the stairs and races off to his father's office.<p>

The man in question already waiting for him, "You know I have more important things to do then wait for you," he states coolly.

"Didn't hear my alarm," Sherlock sniffs.

"Well, let's hear it then," Mr. Holmes, steeples his figures expectantly.

"Colin assumed the ice on the pond was strong enough to hold a person, and I told him it wasn't but he didn't believe me," he shrugs.

"People don't just throw someone into frigid water without cause, Sherlock."

"I was trying to walk away, sir…" Sherlock breathes keeping his frustration in check. "It's hardly my fault the giant idiot attacked me."

"There it is, then," Mr. Holmes sighs, "How do you expect to have friends if you insult there intelligence all the time?" he hums, "Was this to show off in front of that Byrne girl?"

The boys face contorts in disgust, "No, she's repulsive. I do not let other people influence my actions father. And I have friends."

"That neighborhood boy is hardly a proper friend, Sherlock," Mr. Holmes states superiorly. "He's a bit funny if you ask me…"

"No one did," Sherlock blurts under his breath.

"What was that?" his father fixes him with a harsh look, "You've wasted enough of my time today, get out of my sight." He orders gruffly, Sherlock hastily getting to his feet. "I don't want to see you for the rest of the day."

"Yes, sir," Sherlock nods.

"I want you to think long and hard about your actions here Sherlock; while last night is no longer of importance… you'll do well to remember the importance of showing up on time for appointments and respecting your elders." Mr. Holmes spits, Sherlock quickly exiting the study.

He nearly runs into Mycroft in the hallway the older boy catching him so he doesn't loose his balance. "How'd it go?"

"I need new friends and to not be insolent, and on time..." Sherlock murmurs.

"That's not so bad," Mycroft offers.

"I don't want to talk about it..." he sighs, "I'm to stay out of sight." He states dejectedly as he strides quickly up the stairs to his room.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.) Also feel free to through John in there too if ya want (present day only though for that)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	32. Discount 2

Continuation of Ch. 2 (Which I had planned on doing, but forgot about... so thank you for reminding me ;)

Sherlock: 11

Mycroft:18

* * *

><p>Mycroft walks at his normal slow pace on the way back from the store, a vindictive smile on his face. There's no telling what's going to happen when he gets home. He arrives, as expected, before Sherlock, walking into the house as surprise is shouted by the people hiding for the party.<p>

"Where's your brother?" Madame Holmes asks once everyone quieted down, taking the bag with the milk and such.

"He ran off," Mycroft states, concealing the whole truth. "I'm sure he'll turn up soon."

"He knows there's a party, what's the matter with him," Mr. Holmes frowns, as he speaks aside to his eldest, the boy just shrugging.

"False alarm everyone," Madame Holmes motions to everyone to hide again.

No sooner did the words leave her mouth than there is a knock at the door. The guest quiet down for the surprise as Madame Holmes opens the door expecting to see her son. What she finds is Sherlock, squirming in the grasp of a police constable; the word surprise dying on everyone's lips.

"Surprise," Sherlock mumbles petulantly.

"Sorry to trouble ya ma'am, but does this belong to you?" The constable asks.

"What's the meaning of this?" Mr. Holmes steps forward sternly, "Sherlock get inside now."

Sherlock follows the order running into the house and up to his room as quickly as possible.

"Again, sorry sir, we found him nicking a couple items from the grocery." He informs them, "Caught up with him around Kent St, Fast little bugger if I do say so."

"I'm so sorry officer," Madame Holmes apologizes, "This is really not like him."

"Are they pressing charges?" Mr. Holmes implores business like.

"No no, nothing of the sort, sir; first offense and all, boys..." He chuckles, sobering at the stern face before him.

"I assure you it won't happen again," Mr. Holmes replies roughly.

After the officers leave, the party is dispersed with the proper apologies made. Luckily there weren't many people there to begin with. Mycroft watched smugly, thinking how it served Sherlock right breaking the law like that; especially given that it's his birthday and all.

"Sherlock get down here, now," Mr. Holmes shouts up the stairs, Sherlock appearing instantly. "Both of you sit," he orders his sons to the couch in the sitting room, Madame Holmes sitting on the chair across from them as their father paces.

"We're very disappointed in you boys," Madame Holmes starts.

"I didn't do anything," Mycroft states incredulously.

"Exactly," Their father snaps.

"You where supposed to be keeping an on your brother," She reminds him.

"You know how he is," Mycroft huffs.

"As do you," Mr. Holmes warns with a cold glare. "You ruined all the hard work your mother went through to arrange this surprise and embarrassed not only us, but yourselves in front of the guests due to your, "He looks at Mycroft, "lazy attitude," he turns to the younger boy, "And your… idiocy, I suppose," he seethes a bit, "Another experiment no doubt."

"It was hardly a surprise," Sherlock huffs.

"That's no excuse for being delivered to our doorstep by the police."

"'Ford," Madame Holmes tries to soothe her irate husband, "It could have been worse," she reminds.

"I don't even want to think about that," Mr. Holmes spits, "I will not harbor a thief in my house," he pauses mentally determining their punishment. "Mycroft, go to your room." He orders, "You're grounded until we take you back to university."

"Yes sir," Mycroft nods, taking his punishment quietly.

"Sherlock, you're grounded until further notice," he starts, "And your gifts are to be donated to charity." Sherlock pouts, glaring daggers at his father. "You brought this upon yourself young man… You will open them and still write thank you cards for each gift to make up for your behavior," He states superiorly, motioning them to go to their rooms now.

"I didn't want presents or a party any way," Sherlock yells before stomping out of the room, Mycroft quietly following after him.

As they climb the stairs together, Mycroft turns on his brother, "Why do you do these things?" he accuses.

"This wouldn't have happened if you didn't tell the constable where to catch me."

"No, Sherlock this wouldn't have happened if you didn't needlessly steal."

"I didn't think I'd get caught," Sherlock elbows his brother in the gut.

Mycroft pushes him back in retaliation as they reach the top of the stairs, "Well next time, do try to use that brain you supposedly have."

"Next time I'll just frame you," he responds haughtily.

"Boy's I better hear doors closing or I'm coming up there," Mr. Holmes voice carries from the lower level, the brothers glaring at one another before stomping off to their respective bedrooms and slamming the doors in unison.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.) Also feel free to through John in there too if ya want (present day only though for that)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	33. Girls

AN: If you haven't yet, and are interested in reading about the Sherlock's drug problem (with in this same universe starting at age 20)... please Check out the story Seven Percent.

Also to clarify, back in Ch. 30, Mycroft had all of Sherlock's experiments moved into his bed room, when his people cleaned.

Thanks! :D

* * *

><p>Sherlock: 7<p>

Mycroft:14

* * *

><p>Sherlock bounds excitedly into his brother's room Friday morning, jumping on the bed to wake him. "'Croft!" He huffs as he bounces, "Get up, 'Croft! We're going fishing."<p>

"Sleep first…Sherl…"Mycroft crumbles from under the cocoon of blankets.

"No, up, up, up, up…" Sherlock repeats with each jump. "You promised."

"What time is it?"

"Fishing time," the younger boy states, causing his brother to roll over to look at his alarm clock; the time stating it's only nine in the morning.

"I told you we'd do it after noon," Mycroft breathes his eyes still closed as he snuggles back into the bed.

"Why can't we go early?" Sherlock pouts, dropping into a sit on the mattress.

"Because I need sleep…" his brother groans, flipping the covers off and removing the incessant boy from his room.

"'Croft…" he whines.

"I promised didn't I," Mycroft huffs at the door to his room, "No run along and let me sleep for now." He closes his bedroom door with Sherlock on the other side.

Mycroft's awake and dressed by 11:30 ambling down the stairs for a late breakfast of sorts, Sherlock sitting bored in the kitchen while Sylvia tries to coax him to eat his lunch.

"Come now dear," Sylvia sighs, "The sooner you eat the sooner you can go explore."

"About time," Sherlock groans, when he sees his brother. "I thought you died," he adds dramatically.

"Oh, Mycroft," Sylvia greets, "I'll fix you something," She smiles rising from the table.

"Thank you," he offers.

"Give it a try please," She pleads aside as she passes the older boy.

"Sherly you need to eat so you have strength to fish later," he explains striding behind his brother's chair to walk around the table.

"I'm plenty strong," Sherlock huffs, "A stupid sandwich isn't going to change that."

"Fine then," Mycroft shrugs snatching up the sandwich and dramatically taking a large messy bite, knowing just how his brother will react.

"That's my sandwich, give it back!"

"I thought you didn't want it," He asks around the mouthful.

"I changed my mind," Sherlock glares, reaching for the food, "Now give it!"

Mycroft smirks as he drops it back onto his brother's plate and takes his place at the kitchen table.

"You contaminated it," the younger boy mumbles, surgically removing the part around Mycroft's bite before eating the sandwich between suspicious glances at his brother.

Sylvia leaves the boy's to eat, attending to some chores around the house. Sherlock rambles on about all the things he read about fishing and how it'll be another important pirate skill.

"Mycroft," Sylvia's voice calls gently from the hallway, the boys sharing a look before he goes to find out what she wants. "Phone, dear," She motions with the receiver as he steps out into the hall.

"Hullo?" Mycroft asks, unsure who would be calling.

"Um… Hi, Mycroft," A cheerful voice greets, "This is Evangeline…"

He racks his brain for a moment before placing the girl, "Oh yes," he states dumbly.

"Hope you don't mind, but Davey gave me your number… Anyway, some of us are going to the pond and maybe the cinema, if ya wanta come?" She rambles nervously.

"Uh…Right, Yeah…Yes," Mycroft corrects himself, wincing at his ineloquence, "I'd love to."

"Brilliant," Evangeline answers happily, "See ya in a bit then."

"See you soon," he nods as they ring off.

Mycroft's pleasantly surprised at the turn of events, before realizing that he's hideously dressed for hanging out with some mates and a girl who's more than possibly interested in him. He gets halfway down the hall towards the stairs before a voice stops him.

"You're going, then," Sherlock states grimly, standing in the door to the kitchen with Curie clutched under his arm.

"We can fish tomorrow Sherlock, I…"

"What? Promise?" he accuses, "You promised today 'Croft," he pouts a stomp of his foot.

"I know," Mycroft shuffles guiltily, "Why don't you see if Jamie is free today," he offers as an alternative.

"But we're supposed to go fishing…"

"Well there's been a change of plans," he snaps unfairly, he need to hurry or he'll be late. "You'll understand when you're older Sherlock…" he informs him, shrugging before going off to change.

"You're a liar!" Sherlock shouts after him, "And the worst brother ever!"

While the anger and disappointment in the younger boy's words hurts, Mycroft goes anyway. He returns hours later to find the neighbor boy, Jamie, walking down the front steps to head home.

"Hello Jamie," he smiles.

"I'm not supposed to talk to," Jamie replies honestly.

"Why not?" Mycroft asks, taken aback.

"Sorry, Sherlock wouldn't say," he shrugs, "Bye Mycroft." He states before trotting off.

When Mycroft gets back inside the house, he's met with a worried mother. "There you are," Madame Holmes states tersely.

"We ended up going to the cinema as well," he explains.

"I hope that girl was worth it, Mycroft Holmes," She warns him, a blush colouring his face. "Your brother has been distraught all day."

"I didn't plan on it," Mycroft defends himself; "We can still go fishing," he rolls his eyes.

"It's not about that, cher," she clarifies for him, "You broke your promise…that's not a very big brotherly thing to do now is it?"

"No ma'am," he bows his head reproachfully.

"He's in the library," she informs him with a small encouraging smile, as she squeezes his shoulder.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft calls, pushing cautiously into the book lined room. There's no answer, but he sees the Sherlock shaped form on ground in the middle of the room. The younger boy laying on his stomach dejectedly, with his arms out flat like a cross. "You have fun with Jamie?" he asks, trying to break the ice a bit.

"Go away," Sherlock mumbles, turning his face away from his brother. "I'm not talking to you."

"Come on Sherly," he soothes, sitting on the floor next to the silent boy. "Alright, listen then..." Mycroft sighs. "I'm sorry we didn't get to fish today like I promised. There was this girl and…"

Sherlock audibly scoffs at that, still immobile.

"I know it's hard to understand right now," Mycroft pauses trying to figure out how to explain this to a seven year old with going too in depth or anything. "When you're older they become more interesting, and distract you from important things… like taking your brother fishing." He smirks, nudging his brother. "We can still go tomorrow if you want…" The answering silence is deafening as Sherlock continues to just lay there and pout, "Let me know," Mycroft sighs, rising to his feet. "I am sorry…" he adds before leaving the room.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.) Also feel free to through John in there too if ya want (present day only though for that)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	34. CBlock

AN: If you haven't yet, and are interested in reading about the Sherlock's drug problem (with in this same universe starting at age 20)... please Check out the story Seven Percent.

Also to clarify, back in Ch. 30, Mycroft had all of Sherlock's experiments moved into his bed room, when his people cleaned.

Thanks! :D

* * *

><p>Sherlock: 8 (almost 9)<p>

Mycroft:16

* * *

><p>Mycroft was entrusted with watching Sherlock while their parents went to some dinner party and Sylvia had gone home for the day, so it was just the two of them. That is until Mycroft invited Evangeline, Eva for short, over to "study" since the Holmes weren't due to return to very late.<p>

"Why can't I stay up?" Sherlock asks suspiciously.

"Because it's your bed time Sherly, now go," Mycroft explains, "I'm only following the rules."

"Rules are boring," the jimjam clad boy pouts. "Come on…"

"No, I won't get in trouble because of you, understand."

"Fine," Sherlock's little face twists into a glare and pout, as he marches down the hall to his bedroom.

"I'll be up later to make sure you're sleeping," the older boy warns.

An hour or so later Eva arrives, Mycroft making sure Sherlock was sleeping, and the two teens sit on the couch and watch TV, their school books quite forgotten.

"Thanks for inviting me," She smiles, shifting a bit.

"My pleasure," he returns, mirroring her. "It's always nice to have something to do on a Saturday."

"Yeah…" Eva agrees, leaning closer, "You saved me from a rather boring night of studying…"

"Studying is better in pairs…" Mycroft agrees, as they gap between them finally closes.

The kiss is tentative at first, both parties taking it slow to adjust before fully snogging. All sense of time is lost, and Mycroft can't recall when they moved. Evangeline lying back with him poised over her as they continued on his hand starting to explore under her blouse when they're interrupted.

"What are you doing, 'Croft?" An incredulous little voice questions, the two teens breaking apart instantly.

"Sherlock, you're supposed to be in bed," Mycroft discreetly glares at him.

"I heard voices."

"Oh, did we startle you sweetie?" Eva questions warmly.

"No," Sherlock replies resolutely, "And you aren't supposed to have guests," he informs the older boy.

"We're studying, its fine," Mycroft forces out nicely trying to get his brother to leave. "Let's get you back to bed, shall we," he stands walking over to his brother to take him upstairs.

"I can't sleep," he says slipping past Mycroft to sit on the couch next to Eva.

"Sherlock," he warns.

"It's scary up there alone," he pouts, drawing himself up on to hug his knees.

"Mycroft," Eva pleas falling for Sherlock's act.

"Fine," he grits out, returning to the couch.

Sherlock is now sitting in between him and Eva, and sticks his tongue out spitefully at Mycroft takes his seat. The older boy shakes his head in irritation as they watch the movie, the younger boy scooting closer to Eva; Mycroft knowing full well he's doing it to spite him.

"If you start to nod off, I'm taking you back to bed," Mycroft warns, drumming his fingers anxiously on the arm of the sofa.

Eva shoots Mycroft a look, "Don't listen to him," she soothes, rubbing Sherlock's back. "I know how big houses can make frightening noises sometimes."

"It sounds like a man lives in my closet," he admits solemnly.

The older boy sits there stewing in frustration and anger at his manipulative little brother, ruining his night. The movie draws to an end, Mycroft looking over to see Sherlock "sleeping" with his head on Eva's lap.

"I better go," Evangeline whispers, carefully extracting herself from the younger boy, Mycroft walking her to the door.

"Sorry about him," he offers as they stand awkwardly in the entry way.

"It's fine… I know what its like," she smiles, "Maybe we can study tomorrow, yeah?"

"Um, yeah…" Mycroft clears his throat nervously.

"I'll call you," Eva smiles, leaning up to give him a parting kiss before skipping out the door.

"I accept bribes, you know," Sherlock yawns sleepily from the doorway as his brother turns on him, "For future reference."

"I'm going to murder you, if you don't go to bed right this second," Mycroft informs him sternly, his irritation from the last hour spilling fourth.

"I'm going," he huffs starting to ascend the stairs, "She's got buck teeth, ya know…"

"Sherlock…"

"Like a beaver," he adds with a chuckle.

"That's quite enough," Mycroft threatens, following up the stairs after the boy, "You manipulative little…"

Sherlock picks up speed knowing his brother won't catch him, "I'm not saying she's too hideous…" he laughs again, as he goes to his room quickly, "I can't believe you put your mouth on that…"

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.) Also feel free to through John in there too if ya want (present day only though for that)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	35. Tick

For SerpentWinged(s) prompt

* * *

><p>Sherlock: 6<p>

Mycroft:13

* * *

><p>"Sttoppp!" The younger boy wails in between gasps of forced laughter. ""Crroooft…"<p>

"I will get the answer out of you," He promises continuing to tickle his brother.

"I don't," he giggles helplessly squirming on the floor, "I don't liiiike being tickled!"

"If you liked it, it wouldn't be torture Captain," Mycroft informs him superiorly.

"Not fairrr…." Sherlock squeaks his eyes watering, "STOP! STOP!" He shrieks trying to push his brother away, kicking.

"Not until you tell me."

"Nooo…" he fights, "I don't… I'm nottt playing anymore!" He insists as Mycroft mercilessly tickles him.

"What's going on in here?" Mr. Holmes peaks in to the family room, causing Mycroft to stop.

Sherlock's foot places a well aimed kick to his brother's chest as he thrashes free, causing Mycroft to fall back.

"Tickle torture," he pouts breathing heavily, running over to his father get away from the older boy.

"We're just playing," Mycroft states simply.

"It certainly sounded like torture at that decibel level," he informs him calmly, "If he tells you stop, you stop, understand?" Mr. Holmes tells his eldest.

"Yes sir," he nods as their father walks away. Sherlock sticks his tongue out triumphantly, "Why you…" the older boy threatens, lunging forward.

Sherlock's face falling as he takes off down the hallway, "You can't catch me 'Croft you're too slow!"

"Yes, well my legs are longer," he huffs in chase.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.) Also feel free to through John in there too if ya want (present day only though for that)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	36. Paris

(There will a part 2 to this)

Sherlock: 17

Mycroft:24

* * *

><p>The Holmes family found themselves in France for one of Madame Holmes Aunt's kid's weddings, or some such relation. Sherlock had effortlessly tuned out the particular conversation when they received the invitation and when they were en route. On the plus side, it was in Paris and not some small little town; which meant there'd be a proper hotel and actual things to do.<p>

"I know Paris is bright and exciting, Sherlock," Madame Holmes starts at the cab takes them to the hotel. "But you will behave yourself at this function."

"How come Mycroft never gets warnings like this?" He huffs glaring out the window at the passing sights.

"I do not misbehave," Mycroft states haughtily.

"Of course not," Sherlock sighs, "Because you're too fat and lazy."

"Honestly Sherlock, leave your brother alone," Madam Holmes warns, "Besides, You know he's right."

"When will father arrive?" Mycroft inquires pleasantly.

"He's due shortly before the ceremony… unfortunately," she shakes her head.

"If he even comes," Sherlock breathes.

"Hush now," his mother scolds mildly, earning an eye roll.

The cab brings them up to the grand hotel where they're staying and the ceremony will be held. Madame Holmes shoos her boys to wait for her off to the side as she checks into the hotel since her family made all the arrangements for them. Sherlock leaning his thin frame against one of the pillars, his hands in his pockets as he scowls at the people walking by; Mycroft standing straight and proper beside him.

"Bad news I'm afraid," Madame Holmes tells them as she rejoins the boys, room keys and information in hand.

"Someone was caught cheating and the weddings off?" Sherlock questions hopefully.

"Don't say such thing, cher," she snaps, "There was mix up and we didn't get the suite we had booked, you boys are going to have to share a regular room."

"What," the younger brother groans, receiving a wary look from his mother, "Pardon?" he tries again.

"I'm sure it won't be a problem," Mycroft offers cordially, taking the key from their mother.

"We're across the hall, so if there's any trouble…" she warns.

"We haven't killed each other, thus far, a weekend will be fine."

"I knew I should have packed my machete," Sherlock sneers, under his breath. "I'm just waiting for the prime opportunity…"

"Lovely," Madame Holmes sighs in exacerbation at the last comment.

Up in the room, Mycroft sets out unpacking his things as Sherlock flops onto the bed that's closer to the window, claiming it as his own. He lays there for a beat before checking to see if there's anything interesting in the drawers besides bibles and room service menus. Finding nothing of interest he lays back down with an audible sigh, his head hanging off the mattress as he follows his brother's actions upside down.

"You should at least hang up your suit, Sherly," Mycroft instructs, "Don't want your dress clothes rumpled."

"Dull…" he intones. "They were packed expertly, they should be fine." Sherlock shifts his focus up to the ceiling as he listens to his brother shuffle about the room. "Why do care about such trifles?"

"I beg your pardon?" Mycroft questions, hanging up the suit jacket he was just wearing.

"You know what I mean," the younger man huffs, glaring upside as the blood pools in his head and colours his face, "Preventing wrinkles, banal pleasantries, caring about useless things."

"Are you going to be moody this whole weekend?" He shakes his head at the teen, who seems to have become sullen and cynical since the day he hit puberty.

"Depends… Now answer my question."

"Haven't you ever heard that you catch more flies with honey, brother?" Mycroft offers pleasantly as he places his toiletries in the en suite.

"Ever hear that idioms are idiotic?" Sherlock shoots back. "Why stoop to their level, you're better than that."

"I don't expect you to understand Sherlock," He sits on the bed, reclining against the head board which is more relaxed then his brother has seen him in sometime.

"Then explain."

The older boy rolls his eyes and sighs, picking up the papers he brought to go over, "Again you're misreading the data," Mycroft begins knowingly. "I, like you, don't really care about the silly social expectations and such," he continues to peruse the file.

"Why hide it?" Sherlock asks in earnest.

"Because, brother," he enunciates carefully, "No one wants to hire an insolent sod that intellectually lords over his peers, it's best to avoid confrontation."

"That's what you do, though…" he smirks, "Lording over people and such."

"Not blatantly."

"So you put on airs to charm those who are under you or important to a goal… all the while pulling the strings," Sherlock fleshes it out verbally, "You always did like being the puppet master."

"Hmm…" Mycroft hums over the file he's reading, "That does have a nice ring to it... It's not putting on airs, if I naturally possess them. " He thinks for a beat, "It's more necessary subterfuge, I suppose."

"Well it sounds boring," Sherlock states in a fittingly bored tone.

"One man's dull…" Mycroft shrugs distractedly, smirking gently at the altered idiom that annoys his brother.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.) Also feel free to through John in there too if ya want (present day only though for that)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	37. Paris 2

This part turned out more angsty then I planned... (Someone might want to request something cute ;D)

Sherlock: 17

Mycroft:24

* * *

><p>Mr. Holmes, unsurprisingly, misses the ceremony and barely makes it to the reception. It's not like it absence was really noticed, Madame Holmes catching up with her sister and other various relatives. Sherlock was bored out of his mind, the non family attendees where either old or lacked any sort of taste. That's including the brides maids who kept shooting him curious glances, Sherlock assuming she was starring at Mycroft due to his obliviousness.<p>

"That pink tart is starring at you," Sherlock whispers to his brother in the church pew.

"You mean lady," he corrects following his brother's gaze, "Which one, they're all pink."

"The one starring obviously."

"Obviously, she's starring at you," Mycroft shoots back, "Are you really that oblivious?"

"Shut up," Sherlock snaps, "It's hard to tell from here."

"Hardly…"

"Shh…" Madame Holmes hisses at them.

There was some downtime in between the service and the reception, the boys back in their hotel room to change and prepare for the festivities. Their father already napping in Mummy's room making them wonder if he just skipped the church part. Sherlock flops on the bed, disregarding his nice clothes and the glare from Mycroft.

"I'm to remind you to not make trouble tonight," the eldest states.

"I don't make trouble..."

"Of course not."

"Besides it's mummy you should be worried about," Sherlock informs him.

"Oh?"

"I heard her talking to Aunt Larine, apparently the Maid of Honor is single and a lawyer or something…" he states flippantly.

"How does that pertain to me?"

"Who's oblivious now," he huffs, "They're playing match maker."

Mycroft frowns at the implications of this new knowledge, "Don't they have anything better to do then marry us off…" He sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Apparently not, I attribute it to wanting to have children again… but since they can't grandchildren are the only options."

"I'm only twenty- four; honestly… it will happen at some point."

"You know how mummy worries…." Sherlock states still sounding bored, "Thinks you're going to work yourself to death and stick to a familiar routine instead of coupling."

"Well her worry is premature," Mycroft huffs indignantly, "It's not like I don't want it."

"Really?" the younger man sits up, to inquire. "What changed your mind?"

"Nothing changed my mind, Sherly," he starts incredulously, "It would be nice to have someone to come home to…" he offers instead of explaining himself.

"Get a dog," Sherlock quips at the unsatisfactory reply.

The reception was a bit better; there was an open bar that Sherlock took full use of. It was really a terrible habit to play the idiocy drinking game, but it was the only way for him to hold his tongue. He positioned himself at the bar, gaining full view of the large ball room. Mycroft was currently dancing with the Maid of Honor, looking down right irate whenever she was distracted. It would be quite hilarious if Sherlock didn't know that, in that respect, they shared similar fates.

"Salut," a voice greets him.

"Oui?" Sherlock questions haughtily, turning to find the brides maid from earlier.

"Vous etes du cote mariees ne sont pas vous?"

"Defaut de pertinence, et je n'ai pas envie de danser ou de continuer a parler francais.

"Pourguoi pas?" She enquires.

"C'est fastidieux," Sherlock takes a long sip of his drink, "Your accent is a bit off, where are you from?"

"Ah," she chuckles, "You caught me, I grew up in Brussels, and we traveled a lot."

"You speak Dutch as well then?"

"Hardly," She smiles, "I'm Lotte," she introduces herself, holding out a hand which he eyes with disinterest.

"There you are Sherlock," Mycroft calls, stepping up to the bar and ordering a scotch and downing half of it quickly, "That woman is all hands," he breathes forgetting himself around his brother, until he realizes they aren't alone.

"I noticed," Sherlock intones with disinterest, "Your expressions said it all."

"My apologies, I didn't realize you where conversing with Miss…"

"Lotte… Mycroft," the younger man shrugs, motioning an introduction.

"Do not worry, I know how Zoe can be," She chuckles warmly as they shake hands.

"Charmed to meet you Lotte," he nods charmingly.

"You too are…." She questions motioning between the men.

"Brothers," Mycroft answers with a smile.

"Unfortunately," Sherlock intones under his breath.

"Ah," Lotte nods, "I was trying to convince your brother to dance with me."

"He said no?" He feigns shock, knowing full well that was hardly a surprise.

"I cannot believe it either," Lotte smiles, "Though perhaps I should have gone after the charming one…" She flirts, Mycroft smiling as Sherlock raises a brow in distress.

"Are you sure you're not interested brother?" Mycroft prods, already forgetting his drink on the bar.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Sherlock breathes aside as he rolls his at the grotesque display, "No, go ahead…brother…" He takes Mycroft's left over beverage. "I'm sure you prevented me from something quite naughty," he divulges with a wink, striding away as Lotte turns bright red and Mycroft fumbles through an apology.

Sherlock sneaks off to the terrace after snagging a couple fags and lighter from a drunken ladies purse. The lighter's quite sharp, silver and etched with a spindly design that prevents it from slipping. He thought he was alone until he heard a noise from the other side of the doors.

"Petite, es que vous?" the familiar voice enquires.

"Tata?" Sherlock asks, with a mild panic at what he's doing.

"I thought so," she smirks triumphantly, walking towards him. "Don't worry, I won't tell your mother," she adds as she takes a drag from her own cigarette. "Hiding as well?"

"Weddings are dull."

"Oui…" Vie nods in commiseration, "Why do you think I've refrained from having one?"

"Because no one is good enough and your sister married a prat," he answers the rhetorical question.

"Mon dieu," she shakes her head, "You would not be here if your mama didn't marry that prat, as you say."

"Minor detail," Sherlock sighs, exhaling smoke.

"You don't mean that, cher," Vie corrects gently, earning another shrug. The pair smoke in silence, finishing up there tobacco products. "Come on," she leads, "I think cake is in order," she puts her arm around the younger man fondly as they head back in.

After a spot of cake, that he took one bite of, Sherlock resumes his plan of drinking; mostly champagne. It was terrible mistake that lead him to not only dance, but stumble about in a fog. He'd be embarrassed if he knew what he was doing.

"Mycroft dear," Madame Holmes shows up at the table he's sitting at talking to a girl, "Sorry to interrupt, but I could you collect your brother," She implies, Mycroft following her gaze to his brother leaning heavily against a pillar. "I believe he's a bit tired," she covers.

"Sure thing, mummy," he offers, frowning as he excuses himself. Striding across the room, he takes hold of Sherlock's arm, "Come Sherly, bed," he instructs.

"I'm not tired, stop playing mother," he tries to shrug off the older man's grip.

"You don't have to sleep, we'll just go up to the room," he pulls him off the pillar to head out of the ball room. "I take it you drank on an empty stomach," he takes a cookie off the table and hands it to his brother.

"Not hungry," Sherlock mumbles taking a bite of the cookie and making a face and tossing the sweet on a nearby table. "Is this over yet, 'Croft?" he whines.

"Yes, we're going up stairs," Mycroft soothes, as they exit going straight to the lifts. He steadies Sherlock against the wall as they wait, the drunk boys head lulling forward to rest on his brother's shoulder.

"You smell like a girl," Sherlock giggles into his brother.

"No thanks to Zoe I'm sure," he sighs, the lift dinging as the doors open. "Alright come along," he pulls him off the wall.

"My head hurts," he pouts loudly. "I'm talking loud…" he chuckles.

"You're drunk," Mycroft remind him, hitting the button for their floor.

"You should be drunk too…Why aren't you?"

"I didn't drink as much as you Sherlock and I actually ate something."

"Meh," Sherlock waves him off, leaning heavily against the wall with his eyes squeezed shut.

"You all right there Sherly?" Mycroft asks with concern.

"M'fine…"

Finally they get to the room, Mycroft closing the door glad they made it without incident. "Toilet or bed?"

"Bed," Sherlock murmurs steadying himself against the wall before flinging himself to the loo.

Mycroft follows, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed as Sherlock spits into the toilet.

"I think I'm going to be sick…"

"Serves you right," Mycroft shrugs, idly wondering what he would have been doing if he hadn't been forced to leave.

"Sorry, 'Croft," he sniffs wetly before being sick.

The older boys face twisting in disgust as he looks on, "Next time maybe not drink as much or eat something…" he suggests.

"I never drink again," Sherlock pouts tearfully before being sick again.

"You say that now," Mycroft smirks, handing his brother a glass of water and flushing the toilet.

"'Croft," he calls after spitting out some of the water.

"Yes Sherlock," he sighs in exacerbation, wetting a flannel to cool the boy down.

"Kill me," he sniffs, his stomach still twisting even though there's nothing left to expel. "Please…"

"You'll feel better in the morning," he soothes, crouching to place the flannel on his brother's brow until Sherlock takes it from him.

"No I won't," he hiccoughs, not seeming to notice he's crying.

"Sherlock…"

"Go away," Sherlock orders, lying on the cold tiled floor, "Leave me alone."

"I'm afraid I can't, now if you're quite finished let's get you to bed."

"Why not?" he curls up, "You've done it before."

"I see you're a depressed drunk…" Mycroft shakes his head, "What are you on about?"

"Nothing," Sherlock replies quietly, tracing the grooves of the tiles. "You're so old…"

The eldest studies his brother for a beat, trying to discern what was meant and not liking what he was coming up with. Sherlock starting to doze on the floor. "You can't sleep here," he chides gently, maneuvering his brother up get him to bed.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.) Also feel free to through John in there too if ya want (present day only though for that)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	38. Sleep

AN: Just a sidebar about the French in the previous chapter, I've never been good at writing it so I used the dreaded translator... but thank you Sophie for the correction, I appreciate it. :D

* * *

><p>For: All Mimsy(s) request<p>

Sherlock: 3

Mycroft: 10

* * *

><p>Sherlock had a special ritual for when he went to bed, usually it was Sylvia that tucked him in, but sometimes Mummy would make it home in time, not like he would actually sleep until everyone was safe in the house. First he would make sure the cow jumping over the moon night light was on, the closet doors closed and then he'd jump onto his bed; you had to jump or the thing underneath could grab you. Then, Sylvia or mummy would read to him and tuck him in and if he was really lucky father would read to him. However, sometimes his imagination would get carried away and the posters on his walls would be painted in eerie light and keep him awake or cause him nightmares.<p>

Tonight there were a couple of factors. The Holmes were out late for some business thing which kept Sherlock awake anyway, the picture of the tiger on his wall looked like it was going to jump out and eat him like the rhino in _James and the Giant Peach_, and the storm raging on outside was making him hear creepy noises. Curie was clutched tightly in his arms as he curled up around himself, hiding under the blankets and willing the scary things away. A steady stream of I'm not afraid being reiterated in his mind as he tried to logic away everything, when a loud crack of lighting resounded in the night.

Sherlock's eyes flew open as he froze briefly in panic before he bolted from his room, with Curie in tow, and burst into his brother's room. Mycroft rousing when the door opened, while being able to sleep deeply the smallest noises would wake him.

"'Croft," Sherlock sniffs, walking through the dark room towards his brother's bed, his stuffed creature held in a death grip.

"What is it Sherly?"

"Um…" he starts with a tremble.

"You afraid of the storm?" Mycroft questions knowingly.

"No… Curie was and she didn't think it was safe," Sherlock covers, not wanting to seem like a baby.

"Come on then," the older boy sighs, lifting up his blankets so his brother could climb in.

Another loud clash of weather rings outside in the darkness, causing Sherlock to burrow under the covers and cling to his brother in fright. "You're safe, Sherly," he soothes him; "You know that prayer that Mummy taught us…that's on the plaque above your door?"

"Yess," comes the muffled reply.

"Well, whenever you're scared and you say it," Mycroft explains quietly, "It keeps the bad dreams away and you fall asleep like that," he punctuates with a click of his fingers.

"Really?" Sherlock's dark head peaks out from the covers.

"Mhmm…" he assures him, "Why don't we try it?"

"K…"

The two boys utter the prayer, Mycroft leading since Sherlock didn't know it quite as well.

"Is not working…" Sherlock states softly.

"It takes time… and it helps if you clear your mind."

A minute or two later, the younger boy's breathing had evened out as he fell peacefully to sleep; his brother following shortly after.

* * *

><p>The prayer is: now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep, guide me through the starry night and wake me with the morning light.<p>

(It helped until Sherlock learned the real version and stopped believing in such things... Real version: Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the lord my soul to keep and if I die before I wake I pray the lord my soul to take)

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.) Also feel free to through John in there too if ya want (present day only though for that)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	39. Sleepless

AN: Just want to tell you all to not be afraid to say or ask me things. I really appreciate the corrections and such, and I do try to heed them. (I'm just too lazy to go back and fix it ;D) It takes a lot to offend me, so as long as your comments are true, logical, and not blatantly rude or derogatory do not worry about it. Thanks guys!

* * *

><p>Goes along with previous Chapter.<p>

Sherlock: 10

Mycroft: 18

* * *

><p>Sherlock was at a church youth study group with Jamie, since he had spent the night and Mummy thought it was good for him to learn new things. That's when he learned the "real" version of the bed time prayer; the teacher projecting it up for everyone and going over it and asking if anyone had questions about its meaning and such.<p>

"This version is terrible." Sherlock states, when he's called upon. "How is that supposed to make you feel better if you're talking about dying in your sleep?"

"Because god will watch over you and your soul will go to heaven," The teacher explains gently.

"That's only if you have a soul and god's real."

"Of course he's real, we believe in him and you do want to keep Satan at bay."

"Why?" Sherlock questions earnestly, "Where's the proof?"

"The bible for one," she holds it up for emphases.

"Why?"

"It's what we believe, now sit down." She snaps, Sherlock sitting down with a glare.

"That was brilliant mate," Jamie snickers, "I've never seen her so flustered."

"She's an idiot," Sherlock huffs, dissatisfied that she couldn't answer him properly.

That night he has nightmares of the Satan coming for him, harvesting his "soul" in the form of his heart and other internal organs. All the while laughing in deep hissing like a snake and the echoing rumble of an avalanche; it's a paralyzing dream that causes him to scream without making a sound. His mind playing tricks where he thinks he wakes up from the one devil just be chased down by another. Trying to stay up, the comfort of the old prayer losing some of its magic due to the fact that he keeps thinking about the other version which leads him back to square one in a vicious cycle. Sherlock ends up sleeping on the floor of Mycroft's room for a week before the dreams stop plaguing him.

* * *

><p>AGAIN: The prayer is: now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep, guide me through the starry night and wake me with the morning light.<p>

(It helped until Sherlock learned the real version and stopped believing in such things... Real version: Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the lord my soul to keep and if I die before I wake I pray the lord my soul to take)

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	40. Stab

AN: Solutions (continuation of seven percent) is now up so please check it out if you're interested...

* * *

><p>So, in the canon they estimate that Holmes is around 25 when he meets Watson... so that's what it is in my mind. (Also I peg John around 4 or 5 yrs older then Sherlock)<p>

Sherlock: 28

Mycroft: 35

* * *

><p>It was some ungodly hour, when the pounding on the front door sounded, Mycroft stumbling out of bed into his dressing gown to see what was going on. A cursory glance through the peep hole revealed the empty stoop; with a shrug he turned to go review the camera. A light rapping near the bottom of the door causing him to turn back, another peak and he opens the door to see who it could possibly be. There on his door step, slumped against the door frame is Sherlock.<p>

"'Croft…" He breathes shakily, clutching his side.

"Sherlock…" Mycroft answers crouching down after a beat, "What happened? Where's John?"

"Sisters…" Sherlock replies, his eyes closing a bit as his brother takes stalk of him. "I've been… nicked."

The older man gently prizes Sherlock's hand from his side to reveal the red stain soaking his white shirt. "What have you done," he shakes his head hauling his brother up and into the entry way.

"Is a scratch."

"You need the hospital," Mycroft states sternly.

"No… hospital, is fine," Sherlock insists, his eyes closing again as his head lulls.

"Stay awake, Sherly," he orders sternly, retrieving the phone from the pocket of his brother's coat and contacting the proper channels. Keeping pressure on the wound as he forces his brother to stay conscious, "Sherly," he prods, "You know I can feel your ribs, it's disgusting," he tries.

"Jealous…" he breathes in come back, "You would be sharper if you stopped eating all the time."

"People need to eat," he reminds, glad Sherlock is talking even if his eyes are still closed.

"So they say…" he drops off again.

"Come on," Mycroft calls again, shaking the man, "What's the your favorite element?" he asks, "For reasons unknown…"

"Hhhydrogen," Sherlock breathes, "Is number one…" he smirks a bit, "Just have John stitch up, is all fine."

Mycroft frowns at that, wondering what's taking the damn ambulance so long. "Sherly, you better not bleed all over my rug," he warns, switching tactics, "It's an antique… and I'll never forgive you if you ruin it..." He lies.

"Take it out of my rent… and turn the heat up," he sighs, his eyes fluttering a bit.

"You've been colder," he jests as his mind raced with ideas about how this happened as the he heard the sirens finally approaching.

"'Croft…" Sherlock sighs, "M'sorry…" he murmurs as the emergency personnel arrive.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	41. Shoes

Sherlock: 4

Mycroft: 11

* * *

><p>"Sherlock, what are you doing?" Mycroft questions from the front door watching his brother walk one foot in front of the other with his legs crossed.<p>

"Mummy made me where my shoes," he pouts continuing on through the mud.

"So you put your shoes on the wrong feet?"

The younger boy shrugs, "What if people had feet like this?" he suggests continue to walk awkwardly, "They look normal like this, see the prints."

"Isn't that uncomfortable?" Mycroft wonders.

"Not anymore…"

"You don't even have socks on Sherly," he chides.

"So," Sherlock squirms sinking his feet deeper into the muddy ground.

"Come on, I think it's going to rain again," Mycroft motions, trying to get the younger boy to come inside.

"No, I don't wanta."

"You know mummy doesn't like when we play in the rain."

"You'll have to catch me," Sherlock states, finding his shoes are triumphantly stuck in the mud and slipping out of them to escape his brother.

Mycroft catching him quickly, predicting his movements; Sherlock's bare feet getting covered in mud. "Mummy's going to be cross," he huffs, holding the squirming boy under his arm as his muddy feet kick.

"Put me down," he pouts, "Shoes are stupid… it feels smooshy."

"That's not a word."

"So, I like it," Sherlock states matter of factually as his brother carries him into the house.

"Mummy!" Mycroft calls pleasantly, "Sherlock's been naughty."

"You rat!" the younger boy hisses, elbowing the boy and causing his release. "I have not," he shouts running down the black and white tiled hallway and leaving muddy footprints in his wake.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	42. Stab2

Continuation of Chapter 40

* * *

><p>"Where is the bloody nutter?" John storms down the hall in irritation as he sees an oddly disheveled Mycroft in just trousers and a button down. "I was gone one day," he rants.<p>

"John, do calm down," Mycroft instructs his normally calm tone edged with worry. "It won't help."

"You're right," he inhales deeply, steadying himself by clenching his fists, "I'll kill the daft bugger when he's better." The older man smirks a bit at that, sharing similar sentiments. "They're still patching him up then?"

"Indeed," he nods, "They haven't been able to tell me much," he adds in frustration.

"Any idea what happened?"

"You probably know more than I," Mycroft states wearily. "He showed up at my door bleeding, knife wound apparently."

John sighs, "Any word from Lestrade?"

"He's en route," he states a moment before the man in question joins them.

"God, I'm going to kill 'em," Lestrade huffs.

"Get in line," John offers, scrubbing his hand wearily over his face.

"What happened Lestrade?" Mycroft asks patiently.

"We caught the bloke, so that's something'," he informs them.

"Don't tell me, Alec Jefferies," the shorter man supplies.

"Yea, that's him," Lestrade nods, "Still had the knife on 'em."

"I told him to wait," John seethes in frustration, as he turns away to pace the hall.

"You said he turned up at yours?" The D.I. asks the elder Holmes.

"Yes, he was in bad shape," Mycroft admits, "Going on about it just being a nick, or some such nonsense."

"Hmm…" Lestrade nods, "Well, Jefferies will be charged for attempted murder on top of the original drug charges. He was trying to smuggle various paraphernalia from Amsterdam in Big Ben figures. "

"That's something, I suppose," Mycroft nods.

At that time the doctor finally showed up, informing the men that Sherlock would be fine. Lost a bit of blood, but only needed stitches and was currently conscious.

"I'll leave ya to it," Lestrade starts, "Gotta get back to the station, give 'em my best," he adds politely knowing it doesn't really matter to the injured man.

"Will do, mate," Johns offers with a smile, Mycroft shaking the D.I.'s hand before they go to visit Sherlock.

The two men enter the room to find a weary Sherlock lying in the hospital bed, his sharp eyes falling on them immediately. "Where's Lestrade?" he accuses, "Jefferies shouldn't have gotten far, but…"

"Relax Sherlock," Mycroft steadies him.

"Lestrade all ready rounded him up," John informs him stoically.

"You're cross…" Sherlock states gruffly in confusion, as he observes the shorter man.

"Well done," he nods, "Good to see the blood loss hasn't dulled your skills."

"It wasn't that much…"

"My carpet says otherwise, brother…" Mycroft fixes him with a look.

"I told you to wait Sherlock, or at least call me!... If you say you prefer texting I'm going to punch you right now," He glares, knowing the comment was already forming. "Gahh… I can't look at you," John groans, clenching his hands into fists, not being able to word al the frustration and relief he's feeling. "Get some rest you idiot," he snaps, exiting the room.

Sherlock gives his brother a questioning look that seems to say, 'What was that about.'

"I believe what John was trying to say was that he's glad you're fine, and if you ever do something so careless again we'll kill you ourselves," he offers with a pleasant smile and a brief squeeze of Sherlock's hand. "Now do get some rest, Sherly," he orders leaving as well.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	43. Domestic

For: The ticking clock(s) simple prompts (blood smeared glass and laughter)

Present day.

* * *

><p>John came home to the sound of loud voices, Mrs. Hudson meeting him at the foot of the stairs looking quite nervous. "What's going on?"<p>

"Oh John," She starts anxiously, "He was in another one of his moods… you know he gets, then Mycroft showed up," A loud thump from above cut her off and sent John up the stairs. "The two of them," she mutters, returning to her flat.

"Sherlock, what's going?" John calls, entering the sitting room cautiously, the sliding doors to the kitchen are closed. He hears muffled voices coming from the other side and notices what appears to be blood smeared on the opaque glass. "Sherlock?" he tries again, moving to slide the doors open.

The scene that greets him is surprising to say the least. The Holmes brothers are both sitting on the kitchen floor against the cupboards; Sherlock shaking out his right hand that was clearly bleeding across the knuckles, Mycroft using his handkerchief to dab the blood at the corner of his mouth. If John didn't know any better he'd say Sherlock had been crying, but that was preposterous.

"Had a row then?" John asks dumbly, still trying to process the scene. The brother's both turning their gaze on the small man; not something John found very comfortable.

"Ah, John," Mycroft greets, "My apologies for the mess," he offers.

John looking around to realize there was, what appeared to be most of the kitchen contents strewn about and what he really hoped was flour thrown about, "Barley noticed," he blinks.

"Mycroft was just leaving," Sherlock states, observing his hand as if he just realized it had been hurt.

The elder Holmes "accidently" elbows his brother as he rises carefully to his feet, "Yes, things to do."

"People to destroy," the younger man offers with a smirk.

Mycroft shoots a glare at his brother as he goes to leave, not noticing the wet spot on the floor. His foot slipping as he grabs onto the counter to steady himself he knocks the bag of flour over, spilling it on his suit. John idly wondering where that came from considering neither of them baked, ever. The older man's mouth quirks as if he was fighting to keep his composure, Sherlock smirking from the floor. Moving his hand over his mouth flinching as he realized it was the injured one and turning it, his body shaking a bit as he hides the laughter.

"This place is disgusting," Mycroft sniffs superiorly, exiting quickly.

As soon as he's out of the room, Sherlock and John share a look and burst out laughing.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	44. Pre Domestic

This what happened before John comes home in the previous chapter and ends when he walks in.

(The side of things John isn't privy to at all, ever. ;)

Present day.

* * *

><p>"What are you doing here?" Sherlock greeted his brother, not looking up from his experiment.<p>

"I think you know Sherlock," his brother replies, sliding the kitchen doors closed to prevent Sherlock from leaving and to mute their voices for the nosey landlady.

"Hmm… nope, drawing a blank," he offers flippantly, "You really trying to corner me, in my own flat..."

"I want you to drop this case," Mycroft orders.

Sherlock sets his jaw tensely, "And why would that be?"

"You know why."

"I want to hear you say it," he challenges, looking up at his brother.

Mycroft rolls his eyes before conceding, "It's too dangerous, given your history and…"

"My history," Sherlock seethes, rising from his seat and pretending to look for something with in the cabinetry and achieving to just throw things about. "I'm clean," he shouts, slamming cabinet. "It's been years," he adds quietly, gripping the work top.

"Regardless, it's not wise," Mycroft insists, undeterred by his brother's outburst. "We don't want a slip up."

"I don' even think about it anymore," he snaps before rounding on the other man. "You want proof," he thrusts his, now lightly, scarred forearm in front of his brother's face all the marks 3 to 5 years old.

"Calm down," Mycroft instructs, pushing his brother's arm away. "I know it's been ages, Sherlock, but you have to understand…."

"What?" He accuses, "That I'm always at risk, that'll I forget myself and the case for that solution?"

"More or less," he challenges.

"You know that won't happen."

"Do I?" Mycroft wonders, "These things are hardly predictable."

"No, now step aside," Sherlock orders, "I will not stand for this," he adds standing completely straight, wanting to leave both the kitchen and his brother's presence.

"No, we are not finished here."

"I'm warning you."

"Please," Mycroft sneers, "Let's keep this civil."

Sherlock's anger gets the better of him and he strikes his brother, Mycroft keeping his ground and turning back with only a split lip to show for it.

"Was that really necessary," the older man gingerly touches his lip to observe the damage.

"Yes, it's how I treat most intruders… or shall I fetch the gun?"

"Oh, you mean the murder weapon?" Mycroft challenges with a push, referring to the cabbie case, "Is that hidden with your other illegal paraphernalia?"

"I don't have anything of the sort," Sherlock shouts, grabbing his brother by the lapels and pushing him bodily against the door.

"Unhand me," he fights back, pushing Sherlock's hands away, the younger man's split knuckles sliding against the glass of the door and leaving some blood. "Lestrades' searches aren't as thorough as mine are dear brother," he huffs in exertion.

"Having it is different than using it," he grunts, as they scramble angrily against each other.

"I'm just trying to remove temptation," Mycroft uses his body weight to try and immobilize the younger man.

"I will not drop this case for such an illogical reason," Sherlock grits out, pushing his brother's face to try and break free. "Order me all you like, I won't do it," he pushes hard, taking Mycroft by surprise as they bump into the kitchen table, knocking things about.

"It's too dangerous," Mycroft forces out, once again using his weight as an advantage which causes them to lose their footing.

The two of them sit up, leaning against the cupboards breathing heavily after their scuffle.

"You have to let me handle this," Sherlock instructs, dropping his head back onto the surface behind them.

"You know my motives, Sherlock," Mycroft implies tiredly.

"Yes, you're nothing if not persistent…" he rolls his eyes, "Though a pompous git, none the less."

"Kept you alive so far," he replies haughtily, "Wouldn't want that intelligence to be wasted."

"Death is so common…" Sherlock agrees the brother's falling silent for a beat, "You really think I could hide such a thing from a doctor flat mate, who keeps an eye on me almost as much as you do?"

"I've learned not to underestimate you Sherlock," Mycroft admits quietly, "If you set your mind to it, there's nothing to stop you from slipping through the cracks."

"Yet you seem hell bent on trying," Sherlock wonders idly, voices carrying mutely from the entry way below.

"When it's necessary," he admits, "John's home," he adds, pointing out the obvious as an item crashes to the floor loudly.

"You've ruined my experiment," Sherlock glares at the mess that surrounds them.

"Well you punched me," Mycroft rubs his jaw.

"Please," he sneers, "A split lip is an improvement if anything."

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	45. Wallet

Sherlock 22

Mycroft 29

* * *

><p>After his routine dinner at the Diogenes, Mycroft strolls from the club back to his residence taking the same path he does every night. It's a peaceful time that allows him to unwind, but as he's passing an alley someone grabs him.<p>

"Let's go mate, wallet, watch, cuff links if ya got 'em." The one thug ordered.

"No," Mycroft replies simply.

"No?" he states in surprise, "Who ya fink ya are, the queen…" He chuckles.

"We ain't being funny yea," the second thug brandishes a blade.

Mycroft rolls his eyes at how common this whole thing is, "You are not," he enunciates the correction, "Being funny."

"Whatev princess," The first one snaps, "Now give us your wallet and such and we'll have ya back to the Missus. in no time."

"No," he resolutely states, "I have no cash on me gentlemen and when I get home I will cancel my credit cards," he lays it out for them, mean while discreetly hitting the alert on his phone, "I'm sure there are other, more suited victims about tonight… Somewhere more middle class, perhaps?"

"I've had enough ya posh prick," the one with the knife moves, pinning Mycroft to the brick wall and holding the knife at his collar. "Eddie, if ya will," he orders the other man.

Before Mycroft can strike, or Eddie moves forward a voice calls from further down the alley way. "Oi! Wha' ya blighters fink ya doing?" he startles them. "Boy's we've got some blokes on our territory," he calls down the way he came.

"Shite," the one with the knife backs off Mycroft, nicking him under the jaw in his haste, "Sorry mate," he throws back before grabbing his accomplice the two taking off quickly down the street.

The other man jogging towards the scene throwing back his hood, "You all right?" the now familiar voice asks.

"Only a scratch," Mycroft smirks, hiding his surprise as he dabs the it with his handkerchief. "I had it quite under control," he adds superiorly.

"Of course," Sherlock rolls his eyes, "Your people are getting slow," he tisks, checking the street.

"I'm sure they're apprehending the gentlemen as we speak, brother."

"Indeed," he hums, "Luckily they were idiots."

"Mastering the art of disguise, I see," Mycroft critically appraises the baggy jeans and jumper his brother was wearing.

"Yes, well," Sherlock replaces his hood as he peaks around the corner, "Do try not to get cut up a treat on your way home," He states, slipping back into character before disappearing around the corner.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	46. Swing Swing

Sherlock: 5

Mycroft: 12

* * *

><p>"Sherlock, where are you?" Mycroft called walking around the play frames of the park, looking for the familiar dark mop. Finally his eyes fell upon his brother sitting under a nearby tree with his knees drawn up. "Why aren't you playing?" he asks, sitting down next to the younger boy.<p>

Sherlock's quiet for a beat, pushing the dirt around with his feet, "Those older boys…"

Mycroft looks to see a group of eight year olds running about, "What of them?"

"They said I was too little to play with them," he sniffles, "They aren't even that much older."

"Why would you want to play with them, then?" Mycroft offered, "There's a whole park to play at."

"They said they rule the park…"

"No one rules the park Sherly," he informs him, "If you want to play, they can't stop you."

"Yes they can," Sherlock insists after a beat, "You see them, they're bigger."

"You're cleverer," Mycroft offers, receiving a pout from the younger boy."I'll make you a deal," Mycroft sighs, "You run a long and play, just like normal and if those kids won't leave you alone I'll be right over there," he points, "With Davey and them, and we're even bigger… All right?"

"'Kay…" Sherlock mumbles rubbing his eyes then clamoring to his feet. "Thanks 'Croft," he tosses back as he takes off, Mycroft ambling back to his friends.

Sherlock heads off to the swings, figuring it would be out of the way from the older kids. He pumps his legs, working to a great height and relishing the feel of the wind blowing as he swings back and forth. Focusing on the task at hand he doesn't notice the older kids creeping up behind the swing, until they abruptly stop it. The action causes Sherlock to fly forward onto the woodchips and land on his hands and knees.

"We told you," the one boy starts, "You aren't allowed."

Sherlock steels himself, taking Mycroft's words to heart as he stands back up, "You don't rule the park," he shoots back bravely, "I can play wherever I like."

"Yeah, anywhere but here," another kid nods.

"Leave me alone," Sherlock huffs, stomping back to reclaim his swing, "Or I'll get my brother." He threatens, earning un-fazed OOo's from the group.

One of the kids holds onto the vacant swing, "This swing is taken."

"Yes by me," he pouts.

"Oh you want it?" the older boy snickers, "Here, then," he shrugs before pushing it roughly at Sherlock, who barley dodges it.

"Pete," A voice cuts in, as some of Mycroft's friends approach, "You being a bossy git with your mates?"

"No," the group ring leader replies petulantly to his brother.

"Leave the little ones alone, yeah…"

"I'm not doing anything," he lies, glaring at Sherlock.

"I catch ya again, I'm telling Da," the older boy threatens.

"Fine," he pouts, kicking the swing before running off with the other boys.

"You alright then, little man?"

"Yea…" Sherlock nods quietly, checking his scraped knees before going back to the swing.

The older boy returns to where Mycroft and the other older kids are. "Thanks for your help Will," Mycroft offers, clapping him on the back.

"No problem, mate," Will smiles, "Pete's a bit of a brat as it is," He chuckles fondly, "Needs a talking to every now and then."

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	47. Blame

Sherlock: 6

Mycroft: 13

* * *

><p>Sherlock clambers into the car to find Mycroft all ready there, starring out the window without acknowledging his brother. The younger boy starting to prattle on about his day as he notices that the older boy isn't even feigning interest like he usually does, and studies him for a beat, "What's wrong 'Croft?" he asks.<p>

"Nothing, m'fine," Mycroft replies quietly as he continues to look out the window, with his head on his hand.

"No you aren't," Sherlock huffs, willing his brother to at least look at him before tugging his sleeve when he receives no reply.

"Leave it," Mycroft snaps, retching his arm free and fixing his brother with a glare, revealing the beginnings of a black eye.

The younger boy tries to stifle his gasp of surprise, "Sorry," he murmurs as they ride in silence. "Did Walter do that?" he wonders aloud, knowing full well that was the most likely candidate.

"I don't want to talk about Sherly," he sighs.

Back home, after Sylvia's mild fussing and Mycroft's continued stoicism; Mummy comes home to find her sons finishing their home work in the living room.

"Brolly, what happened?" She questions in concern, taking his face in her hands to look at his black eye. "Where you fighting, that's not like you at all…"

"It wasn't my fault," he starts, not wanting to talk about the incident at all.

"Your father will not take kindly to this news, you understand," Madame Holmes informs him. Her eldest son already knowing that Father will punish him for fighting, regardless of who was at fault.

"Yes ma'am…"

"Why don't you boys go get washed up for dinner, your father will be home any minute."

The brothers nod, hopping up to go and wash their hands.

"Why don't you tell what happened?" Sherlock prods.

"It won't make a difference, Sherly," Mycroft sighs tiredly, "It was wrong to get in the fight in the first place and I have to face the consequences."

"But it wasn't your fault."

"I don't expect you to understand," he shrugs walking off.

Mycroft was the last one in the dining room after father arrived, everyone already seated as he takes his chair; noticing Sherlock's not making eye contact with anyone but his plate.

"Let's see it son," Mr. Holmes calls for his eldest to show him the bruise. "Should be gone in a week or so," he nods.

Mycroft's brow furrows in confusion at his father's flippant attitude. "It was foolish I know I shouldn't have…"

"It's alright, Mycroft," Madame Holmes stops him, "You don't have to cover anymore, Sherlock told us the whole thing."

The older boy looks across the table at his brother in confusion, Sherlock still starring at his plate. The meal continues on in semi silence, their parents chatting about their days as Mycroft tries to get his brother's attention.

"Did you finish your homework Sherlock?" Mr. Holmes asks once everyone was done eating.

"Yes sir," he replies quietly.

"Very well, you're excused, but I want you to go straight to bed and think about how you treated your brother today."

"Yes sir," Sherlock nods, taking off to his room.

"May I be excused as well?" Mycroft asks carefully, "I have reading to complete."

"Fine fine, off you go then," He dismisses his other son.

Mycroft quickly grabs his book from the living room before going to search for his brother. He finds Sherlock sitting quietly at the window seat looking out the window. "Sherlock," he calls quietly to get the boys attention. "What did you tell them?"

"Nothing," he shrugs, "Just that I threw a book at you…"

"Why did you do that?" He wonders, sitting next to his brother trying to figure out why his parents would believe such a silly story.

"You would have gotten in trouble because of that big idiot in your class… and it wasn't fair." Sherlock states simply, "And you never get in trouble."

"It's not fair you getting in trouble either," Mycroft informs him.

The younger boy just shrugs staring at his knees, "I'm used to it."

"Thanks Sherly," he smiles, giving his brother a one armed hug. "Though next time let me own up to my own actions ok?"

"There won't be a next time," Sherlock rolls his eyes with a smile, "I think this was a freak full moon occurrence or something," he tells him earnestly, as they both chuckle.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	48. Chance

Sherlock: 25

Mycroft: 32

(Five years after Mycroft's date with with Rosemary)

* * *

><p>"Let's leave," Sherlock intones as soon as he and Mycroft arrive at the restaurant.<p>

"We only just arrived," Mycroft states, "It's hard enough getting you to agree to meet, why on earth would we leave?"

"We can go elsewhere," he grits out, "I want curry, not Italian."

"Grow up," the elder man hisses, following the hostess to a table.

"You don't want to eat here."

"And why not?" Mycroft raises an eyebrow, "I'm not going to condone your petulant fit because you decided you don't want Italian, now sit down." He instructs taking his seat.

Sherlock sits down slowly, his hands tucked into his pockets and his back ramrod straight. Mycroft perusing the menu, "If you don't order, I will take the liberty to do it for you," he informs him blithely.

"Fine," he bows his head to glance at the menu.

The men order, Sherlock still on edge for reasons unknown to his brother. Mycroft talks asking questions that receive short vague responses that do little to quell his worries about his brother.

"What am I to tell mummy, when you don't give me straight answers brother?" He sighs, before taking a bite of pasta.

"Tell her I died, I don't care…" Sherlock responds carelessly, earning an un-amused look. "When will you cease to be her message boy?"

"When you deign to answer her calls, or god forbid call her."

"Dull," he sighs, drumming his fingers idly on the table.

"Yes, Mummy's concern for you is dull…" Mycroft shakes his head.

"Are you done yet?"

"What's the rush? I know you do not have a case currently." He continues to eat, "How's the flat hunting?"

"None of your business," Sherlock offers, "Your people will no doubt inform you when I move… wouldn't want to put them out of a job."

"How considerate," he smirks sarcastically.

Mycroft takes care of the bill, Sherlock still on edge as he urges his brother to leave; trying his best to quickly flee the restaurant. "Sherlock, what is the matter with you?" he asks incredulously.

Sherlock almost achieves his goal of getting them out, but a voice stops them right at the door, "Mycroft Holmes?" She calls, Sherlock tensing his jaw as his brother turns to see who it is.

"Rosemary," He greets in cultured surprise, seeing the very pregnant baker.

"It's lovely to see you," She beams embracing him quickly, "Oh, Sherlock?" She asks, gaining the other Holmes attention.

"Ah, yes, hello," Sherlock falsely smiles, slipping into his charming persona, "You look radiant," he lies.

"Well…" she rolls her eyes, patting her pregnant stomach, "It's been ages," Rosemary states, with a double meaning.

"Indeed," Mycroft agrees, "We'll let you return to your lunch," he tries.

At that moment, a man appears with a toddler in his arms saddling up to Rosemary, "That queue took ages," he huffs, wrangling the squirming youth, "Um hullo," he greets.

"Sorry darling," she smiles at the man, "These are some old friends of mine," she states, making the proper introductions.

Sherlock eyeing the man as he picks apart his life detail by detail. "You're an accountant, then?"

"Spot on," Mitch chuckles warmly.

"That's how we met actually," Rosemary divulges.

"Ah," Mycroft nods cutting off any impolite comment his brother was about to make, as the hostess comes to seat them, "We'll let you go… enjoy your meal."

"It was good seeing you, we should catch up sometime," She offers politely.

"That would be lovely," He smiles forcibly.

The group parting ways, a scowl creasing Mycroft's face as they head down the street, "That's why you wanted to leave…" he states, putting the pieces together.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock lies, "Though I'm sure you noticed the state of her wedding ring and his penchant for gambling."

"Mmm," The older man hums, still a bit glum as he ruminates over the incident.

"The second child may not even be his," He offers flippantly.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	49. Slap in the Face

This and the previous chapter where from Tadpole11(s) prompts

Sherlock: 9

Mycroft: 17

* * *

><p>Sherlock was hiding under his father's desk, one of his favorite hiding places; one in which only Sylvia and Mycroft knew about. He was drawing and writing in his sketch pad when his father's voice carried from the hall and entered the office, his brother's voice following.<p>

"It's out of the question, son," Mr. Holmes states resolutely.

"Why?" Mycroft asks earnestly.

"It's a waste of time; you need to be focusing on your studies… Not gallivanting about the continent, with those idiot friends of yours."

"But it's the holiday…"

"You want to travel?" Mr. Holmes asks rhetorically, "Then, ask your aunt if you can visit."

"I've been to France, father," Mycroft tries, "It would be educational, I've been studying German and Italian… And I know French and Spanish, the practice would be beneficial."

"Yes it would," he nods in agreement, "If that's what you and your mates would be doing. I was your age once too, Mycroft..." He reminds. "It's not that I don't trust you, it's those people you'd be traveling with."

"What do have against my mates?" he wonders aloud.

"They're fools, surly you've realized that," Mr. Holmes sneers, "They are going nowhere…"

"Unlike me…" Mycroft supplies connecting the dots.

"Yes, unlike you." He sighs, facing his son, "My advice would be to lose them before University, and I stand by my decision, no son of mine will traipse about with a couple of…" he motions, trying to find the right word while his son fights to hold his tongue.

"They're my friends," He blurts irately, having enough.

"You're trying my patience," Mr. Holmes warns.

"You're being unreasonable," Mycroft snaps unable to help himself and earning a harsh slap from his temperamental father.

Sherlock stifles a gasp, having watched the scene from a crack where the wood of the desk didn't quite meet the floor. Mycroft's eyes fall to the desk having heard the noise, and knowing his brother was hiding there; he stiffens his lip, not even holding his stinging cheek as he stands his ground.

"See the effect those 'friends' of yours are having on you?" Mr. Holmes challenges, "Insolence will not be tolerated Mycroft."

"My apologies, father," Mycroft grits out emotionlessly, offering a distraction for Sherlock to quickly slip out from his hiding place and leaving the room.

"It better not happen again," he warns.

"It won't, sir," he intones, before he's dismissed.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	50. RSVP

AN: THANK You all for the lovely reviews and amazing prompts, I couldn't do this with ya! :D

Sherlock: 7

Mycroft: 15

* * *

><p>Mycroft was excitedly checking out the window, waiting for the guest to arrive for his birthday. It was to be a sleep over, since Mr. Holmes was on a business trip, and he'd picked out all his favorite films and treats for the event so him and his mates would have fun things to do while they hung out. He was supposed to surprised about the event, but the only thing that was a mystery was who mummy had invited. The clock ticked on past seven, Sherlock sitting petulantly on the couch. Mycroft dismissing his brother's mood due to the fact that the older boys last birthday party had a piñata and Sherlock wasn't allowed to participate.<p>

"Where is everyone?" Mycroft wonders, as the clock moves past the half hour mark.

"I don't know brolly," Madame Holmes peaks out the window as well.

"The word is out, you don't have friends," Sherlock offers.

"That's not true," he shoots back. "I have lots of friends… unlike you."

"I have friends," the younger boy sits up from where he was sprawled on the couch to glare at his brother.

"You have Jamie, because inanimate objects don't count."

"You're an inanimate object."

"That's enough, boys," Madame Holmes interjects, turning away from the window. "Let me see if I can get to the bottom of this," she offers, squeezing her eldest's shoulder before striding off.

A few minutes later, mummy comes back with a placating smile already on her face. "I'm afraid I have some bad news dear," she tells the birthday boy. "No one received the invitations."

Mycroft's silent for a beat, taking in that information, "Didn't they say to RSVP?"

"I suppose, but I've been so busy it must not have noticed," she frowns, "I'm terribly sorry cher, but I called and invited everyone for next weekend."

"Very well," he sighs sadly.

"Is Jamie still coming over?" Sherlock asks.

"That's not fair," Mycroft starts animatedly.

"No, he's coming next week as well," Madame Holmes states with finality. "Why don't you two get the film ready, and I'll get some of the treats from the kitchen?" She offers warmly.

Sherlock hops up running off to a pick a movie, Mycroft trailing after him, "It's still my birthday, so I get to pick," he calls.

After picking the film and setting it up, Sherlock convince his brother to help him make a fort with the extra blankets and by the time Mummy returns with the sweets and such a decent little fort was erected ensconcing the telly and couch with the tied together afghans.

"Permission to enter?" Madame Holmes calls.

"What's the password," the younger boy giggles.

"Treats?" she shrugs, knowing she'd never guess it properly.

"Um… no," Sherlock contemplates.

Mycroft moving to lift up the corner to meet the woman, "You can join us if you want, regardless of the password."

"No, she hasta know the password," the younger boy calls, "It's the rules, no girls allowed."

"Mummy's not a girl," he replies back into the fort.

"Details," Sherlock states flippantly.

"I'll just leave this with you then," Madame Holmes hands off the tray, kissing her son on the cheek, "Happy birthday cher," she smiles before taking her leave.

"Thank you mummy," Mycroft intones, taking the snacks into the fort. "You better eat some of this," he warns his brother.

"I will," Sherlock whines, positioning Curie to watch the film too. "This fort is brilliant," he looks around proudly.

"I suppose..." the older boy nods.

The boys get comfortable, settling into the blanket cocoon as the movie begins. Sherlock lying on his stomach propped up with his elbows as he kicks his feet about; Mycroft sitting upright with his legs crossed in front of him. They pick at the goodies as the movie progresses further and further.

"Sorry about your party, 'Croft," Sherlock offers absently, still engrossed in the film.

"Its fine, it's really only delayed till next weekend."

"Yeah…" the younger boy agrees softly, he quirks his lips as he continues to feign interest in the film. Wondering how his brother would react if he knew what really happened to the invitations; that were currently hidden under the floor board in his room, having been switched out with empty one. Ultimately Sherlock decided that could wait till after the real party actually happened, "Happy Birthday."

"Thanks Sherly," Mycroft smirks, licking the frosting off a cupcake before the younger boy sneakily hit the bottom of it, causing the frosting to get all over Mycroft's nose and mouth. "Hey," he chuckles along with Sherlock, before retaliating by wiping some on the smaller boy's nose.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	51. Ill

AN: THANK You all for the lovely reviews and amazing prompts, I couldn't do this with ya! :D

Present (Can also kind of go along with the Chapter 20)

* * *

><p>"Hullo?" Mycroft answers his persona phone after seeing Dr. Watson flashing on the screen.<p>

"Um, hullo Mycroft," he greets.

"What's the matter?" The older man questions, from the tone of voice that replied.

"I know you're busy and all, but Sherlock's sick…"

Mycroft lets out a breath in relief, "You are a doctor…" he leads.

"Yes, well, I've done what I can," John snaps defensively, "I'm not used to looking after sniffling blanket creatures who plead for death between coughing fits."

"I see…" he drawls.

"Again, I know you're busy, but I've gotta go to work or I'll be sacked and…"

"I doubt that, John." Mycroft interjects.

"Anyway," the doctor sighs, luckily somewhat used to dealing with Holmes's. "If you could come 'round or send one of your people, I'm at my wits end… and I'd ask Mrs. Hudson, but she's off visiting family." He reveals tiredly, "Just make sure the idiot doesn't try to work on a case or leave."

"Very well," he agrees, "I see what I can do."

"Right, brilliant," John exclaims happily, before they ring off.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft calls, stepping cautiously into the dimly lit flat. "Sherlock?"

He hears a groan from the general direction of the couch, his eyes falling upon a lump of blankets on the floor in between the coffee table and the couch itself.

"What on earth are you doing?" He rolls his eyes, stepping around into the 'kitchen' with his parcel.

"I'm dying," Sherlock bemoans, "Leave me in peace."

"There's a difference between dying and illness, brother… or have you forgotten?" Mycroft clicks on the kettle and sets about making tea.

"Why are you here…where's John?"

"He went to work, you know his real job," he jibes.

"Could you murder me, so I do not have to listen to your pompous harping?" Sherlock whines, before a coughing fits strikes him. "I'll even tell you how to make it look like an accident…"

"As if I need your help in covering up incidents," Mycroft smirks superiorly, checking the inside of the mugs to make sure they're clean.

"Mmm…" the younger man groans, "I'd probably have to murder myself, knowing you…" he huffs.

"That's called suicide Sherlock, and I thought you were above such things…"

"I'm dying remember, I suppose I could frame you."

Mycroft shakes his head, striding back into the sitting room with a cup of tea. "Sit up," he orders.

Sherlock complies slowly after a beat, the blanket over his head with his mused hair sticking out and his face even paler than usual. He sniffles loudly as he moves to the couch, tucking his knees up.

"Here," the older man hands him the mug.

"Mint?" Sherlock inquires his sense of smell dulled by the illness.

"Still your favorite… for reasons unknown," he adds with a look of disgust.

"Mint is clean and has curative properties," he murmurs, blowing on the hot liquid, clutched in his hands.

"It tastes like medicine."

"You never answered my question."

"I will not kill you Sherlock, honestly," Mycroft huffs, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

Sherlock pouts a bit, "Not that question."

"I'm here because John was worried you wouldn't stay in and get the rest you clearly need."

"I'm a grown man, I don't need a babysitter... The only place I'm going is the morgue..."

Mycroft gives his brother a bemused look, "Stop being so dramatic, you aren't dying."

"Everything hurts… By body has staged a mutiny."

"What happened to mind over matter, brother?" He rises to retrieve an item from the paper bag he brought. "Your transport has run down."

Sherlock doesn't say anything, just coughs and sips his tea.

As John is leaving work he receives a text from Mycroft saying he was called away, but not to worry. He returns to Baker Street to find Sherlock sound asleep on the couch with some gruesome medical documentary playing quietly in the background, the smell of mint lingering in the air and a bag of sliced brioche open and eaten on the coffee table.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	52. Scones

Sherlock 10

Mycroft 17

* * *

><p>"What are you doing home?" Mycroft asks, surprised to find his brother in the kitchen when he's not usually home from school yet.<p>

"Came home sick," he shrugs, mixing something in a bowl.

"You don't appear sick," he accuses, "Where's Sylvia?"

"Went to the shoppes…" Sherlock checks the oven.

"Are you making scones?" Mycroft wonders in mild surprise as he sits at the kitchen counter.

"I was bored."

"So you came home from school, which is more interesting, to end up baking."

"School is tedious…" Sherlock sighs dramatically, pulling out the batch of scones, "Plus Jamie and I made a wager to see who could fake sick and go home."

"You won I take it?" Mycroft eyes the treats, "They aren't poisoned are they?" he asks cautiously.

"Of course I won; he's bringing round the work I missed." He smirks triumphantly, "And they're all fine, for now," he indicates the scones, placing them on the rack.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well the red glaze," Sherlock indicates, stirring it. "May contain something that could render you unconscious…" he states cryptically.

Mycroft frowns at the information, "And the uncolored glaze?"

"Is maple flavored," he smiles.

"You put sedatives in the glaze…" the older boy clarifies, trying to wrap his head around the notion as he sniffs a supposedly maple scone.

"It's not like we had melatonin or belladonna lying about," Sherlock rationalizes.

"I suppose not…" Mycroft agrees, taking a wary bite of the treat. "Mummy will be cross if you used all of her sleep aids."

"I'll just give the woman a red scone…I think I put it in the red one," the younger boy contemplates, causing his brother to choke on the pastry until he realizes it was a joke.

There's a knock at the front the door, Sherlock takes one of each scone and puts them in separate bags for his friend before running with them to answer the door.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	53. Brolly

Inspired by: LittleMissDreamer7 she asked for the Sherlock's first words to be Mycroft's nickname of Brolly, but only madame Holmes calls him that so... This is what happened.

Sherlock: 3

Mycroft: 10

* * *

><p>"Mummy?" Sherlock pulls on his mother's sleeve to get her attention before climbing onto the couch next to her.<p>

"What is it cher?" She pulls the small boy into her lap.

"Why does 'Croft have an extra name?"

"You mean a nickname?" Madame Holmes clarifies, "You have one too…"

"No," he huffs trying to figure out how to ask his question. "I know our full names and the easier to say versions, you call us both cher, but he has an extra."

"Oh," she hums in understanding, "You want to know why I call Mycroft brolly sometimes," she smiles.

"Uh huh," Sherlock nods.

"Well when he was small, Grand'Mere bought him a book called Little Bear."

"I know that book."

"Mhmm, it's the same one," she nods fondly, "One day when we were reading it to him there was a picture of Old Grizzly Bear and he was carrying an umbrella, or a brolly."

"How…" Sherlock interrupts impatiently.

"That was his first real word," Madame Holmes continues, "Besides Mummy and daddy of course."

The little boy takes in the information for a beat, his face solemn as he works it out. "But why do you call him that?"

"I'm not sure, cher," She smiles warmly, "It just stuck I suppose." She laughs a little, noticing the little pout on her sons face. "What is the matter?"

"Why don't I have one?" Sherlock looks up his eyes wide and questioning.

"Your first word was ouch," she chuckles gently, "That's hardly a proper nickname."

"Nope," he nods thoughtfully.

"You'll probably get one soon enough," Madame Holmes smiles, embracing him a tight hug, "Mark my words."

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	54. Friends

Sherlock: 14

Mycroft: 22

* * *

><p>"Hullo?" Mycroft answers his phone tiredly, having returned from a hard day at work.<p>

"I'm sorry to bother you, cher…"

"No bother Mummy, what seems to be the matter?" He asks, picking up on her tone.

"Your brother," she begins, "He hasn't come home from school and… You wouldn't have any idea where he could be would you?"

Mycroft thinks for a beat, "He's not with Jamie or the library?"

"No, Jamie's mother said she hadn't seen him and the library was the first place we checked." Madame Holmes sighs, "I don't know what else to do… it's getting late and your father's out of town…"

"Did you call the police?"

"Yes, I popped by the station… They're useless, nothing they can do."

"I see," Mycroft hums in contemplation, eyeing the door to his bedroom wishing he didn't answer the phone and was well on his way to go to sleep. "I shall be there as soon as I can," he rubs his brow, "Check down by the pond and perhaps even the old tree house," he suggests.

"I don't want to call you away."

"Its fine mummy, I'll see you soon."

They ring off, Mycroft sighing loudly and dramatically. Snatching up his keys from the table he stomps out of his flat, cursing his little brother. When he arrives, Mummy is beside herself with worry; Sylvia at her side staying to be of some sort of assistance and looking just as worried.

"We've been all over town Mycroft," Madame Holmes laments, pacing in front of the door, glancing at the clock as it chimes 8pm.

"He'll turn up," He nods, squeezing him mother's shoulders reassuringly. "I may know where he is," he states after a beat, before going back to his auto and driving off.

It's the second place Mycroft looks that he finds his brother. Tucked up on the roof of the school's main building, the elder not surprised it was somewhere high up and hard to get to.

"Sherlock," Mycroft huffs trying to catch his breath, "What on earth are you doing?"

"Why are you here?" He replies with quiet vehemence.

"I'm here because you where due home hours ago and Mummy is beside herself."

"Oh," Sherlock breathes, hugging his knees tighter as he picks at his sleeve.

"Did something happen?" Mycroft wonders cautiously after fully observing his brother's over all demeanor.

"Leave me alone," he snaps, "I'm used to it," he states under his breath.

"What's that supposed to mean, Sherly?"

Sherlock pouts, looking out over the school yard below. "I have no friends," he murmurs.

"I believe Jamie would say otherwise," he offers, sitting next to his brother.

"Not anymore…"

"Oh?" Mycroft raises a brow, "You've fought before, you've even punched him if I recall properly."

"This is different…" The brothers are silent for a bit, until Sherlock is ready to divulge more. "He was going on, incorrectly, about our chemistry lesson and I corrected him…" Sherlock mumbles, "He wouldn't listen, thought he was right…"

"And?" the eldest leads.

"I told him he was being an arsehole and walked away."

"That hardly seems like a problem Sherlock, I'm sure it will work out."

"You don't understand 'Croft," He insists, "It was different…"

"Very well," Mycroft nods, knowing Sherlock wouldn't be giving any more information. "Up you get," he nudges, "Mummy's probably assuming you have been spirited away by gypsies."

"If only," Sherlock sighs, rising to his feet.

As soon as the door to the house opens, Madame Holmes is there relief evident.

"Look who I found," Mycroft offers with a pleased expression.

"Ah bebe," Mummy quickly squeezes her youngest in a tight embrace. "You're freezing," she scolds, ushering him into the kitchen for a hot beverage; Mycroft and Sylvia following. "Next time you decide to trot off by yourself; for the love of god, have the courtesy to call or leave a note."

"Where'd you find him?" Sylvia asks Mycroft.

"He was still at school."

"You weren't on the rooftop where you," Madame Holmes narrows her eyes at her youngest, as she places a steaming mug in front of him. "What am I saying of course you were…" she sighs.

"I'm sorry mummy…" Sherlock intones without meaning.

"You better be…" She states, "Honestly, what were you thinking, surely your first day of school wasn't that bothersome."

The youngest remains silent sipping his beverage pensively as Sylvia fusses about the kitchen to save the dinner that was supposed to be eaten a good three hours earlier.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	55. Uni

Sherlock: 10 (almost 11)

Mycroft: 18

* * *

><p>When Mycroft went off to university, Sherlock had to adjust. At first it seemed great, as if he was the only child in the family. Though in a way he was, due to the age difference it was like the best of both worlds; being an only child who also had a sibling. The house seemed a lot more empty now, however and while Sherlock abhorred the quiet he found himself seeking out alone time. Staying home from school or coming home sick with more and more frequency.<p>

These little falsities granted him time around the house without his parents around, to do as he pleased. He tended to snoop around his brother's room a lot, not like there was much to find and he was always careful to keep the items exactly as he found them. It was mostly curiosity, trying to figure out the part of his brother that he didn't know.

Sherlock continued to find new hiding places, even venturing out his bedroom window to the roof of the house. It started to become a habit for him to hide as soon as father returned from work, prompting them to find him before dinner making a game out of it. Most of the time he was under the table in dining room or behind the loveseat that was in front of the window in the parlor; father played along at first, but was growing tired of the antics.

Then one day, after seeing a program where the main character had an imaginary friend, Sherlock decided to invent one of his own. That's how Reginald came about, it was only when he was at home and bored that he talked to him; mostly in his head, but occasionally out loud. Mummy knew about the new friend and took it in stride, the youngest insisting that he was a colleague and very useful to him.

"Is Sir Reginald joining us for dinner, cher?" Madame Holmes asked warmly, taking the plates out of the cupboard.

"I believe so," he nods, after a beat.

"Very well," she retrieves the extra plate.

Father comes home from work, and for once Sherlock isn't hiding about the house. The small family sat down promptly for dinner, Mr. Holmes eyeing the empty extra place setting where his eldest usually would sit.

"What's that about, then?" He asks, idly, cutting his food.

"We have a dinner guest," Madame Holmes replies as if it was obvious.

"Oh?" Mr. Holmes questions in confusion.

"One of Sherlock's friends," she adds.

"Not that neighbor kid again?" he sighs around a bite, "Wasn't he just over?"

"Sir Reginald," Sherlock informs him.

"Who?"

"He's a scientist," he explains, "A very useful lab assistant as well."

"Highly recommended from Oxford," Mummy adds fondly.

"Is he late, then?" Mr. Holmes asks, not picking up on what's going on.

"No he is right here," Sherlock states simply, pushing his potato's around on his plate.

"He's imaginary," the older man sags in realization.

"Technically," his son agrees, "But that's debatable."

"Aren't you a little old for imaginary friends, Sherlock," he gives his son a look.

"He helps me think," Sherlock shrugs.

"Now 'Ford," Madame Holmes warns gently.

"It's not on, Mar," he addresses his wife, as if the boy wasn't there, "You shouldn't condone this delusion."

"It's perfectly expectable for a ten year old to have an imaginary friend considering…"

"He's almost eleven, he needs real friends, and your coddling of him…"

"I never…" Madame Holmes snaps.

"Please, he's spoiled as it is and now you want him to be weird as well." Mr. Holmes sneers.

"He's unique. I will not have you crush his spirit."

"I'm doing nothing of the sort; I'm merely nipping this before it becomes a real problem."

"He misses his brother, what do you expect?" Madame Holmes pleads irately.

"I expect him to make real friends," He informs her blatantly, "If he falls any further into that mind of his, as clever as he may be, he'll wind up completely ostracized… it's happening all ready."

"Can we ever simply worry about the present?" She seethes, "It's always the future with you and how it will look, maybe if you stayed in the present for once you'd realize the future will take care of itself."

"It's my job to worry about the future Mar," Mr. Holmes returns. "I worry about Sherlock constantly," he motions to his youngest, the two adults just now realizing that the boy was no longer sitting at the table. "He's not like his brother," he adds quietly, after the realization of the boy's absence.

"Can we ever have a pleasant dinner Sherrinford," Madame Holmes accuses warily, placing her napkin on the table as she leaves to find her son.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	56. Implications

Sherlock: 13

Mycroft: 20

* * *

><p>Mycroft was home for winter holiday, and the family was sitting down for their meal together; Sherlock eating with a rare speed an enthusiasm.<p>

"Slow down son," Mr. Holmes warns pleasantly, "What's the hurry?"

"Probably thinks I'll steel it," Mycroft scoffs.

"I wouldn't put it past you," Sherlock jibes back, before turning to his father. "Jamie's coming 'round," he explains, "He found the box we stored the mushrooms we had found when we where eight or so, they were hidden in the back of his closet… We're going to observe them with my new microscope."

"I'm glad you like you like your present cher," Madame Holmes beams before blowing on her spoonful of soup.

"Jamie, eh," Mr. Holmes questions idly.

"Yes…" His youngest leads warily.

"He's a bit different…" he starts trying to not be offensive, but earning a warning glare from his wife. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, if you're of that persuasion," he clears his throat, "You could do better is all…" He frowns. Their youngest was hitting puberty and unlike Mycroft was showing no signs of interest in girls, or boys for that matter. The Holmes where just giving it time, not wanting to blatantly question Sherlock.

"Right…" Sherlock hums in mild confusion at what his father was on about, panning around the table to see his brother snickering mildly at their father's implication and grinning cheekily at his brother's blatant misunderstanding.

The sound of the door bell rings through the house, Sherlock bolting out his chair without bothering to ask if he could be excused. Remembering his etiquette at the doorway out of the room, "May I be excused?"

"Next time you tell that boy to wait till after dinner." Mr. Holmes warns.

"Yes sir."

"Off you go then."

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	57. Implications 2 bonus

Sherlock: 13

Mycroft: 20

* * *

><p>Mycroft was heading down the hall to his bedroom when Sherlock and Jamie talking, he paused outside of the ajar door to listen; curiosity getting the better of him.<p>

"What was he insinuating?" Jamie asks in mild confusion, sprawled out on Sherlock's bed and flipping through a magazine.

"That you're gay, I suppose…" Sherlock hums idly, adjusting the microscope.

"Really?" he wonders, "Do I give that off?"

"I don't believe so, though it hardly matters."

"True," Jamie agrees thoughtfully. "I don't think I am though…"

"Hmm…" Sherlock hums absently.

"I like girls," he decides after a beat. "You on the other hand…" he smirks playfully, "Well you're a bloody robot aren't you." He jests, the two boys chuckling a bit.

"I'm just not interested," he clarifies.

"See, a robot," Jamie nods.

"No, I just thing labels on such things are useless."

"Says the mad scientist," he chuckles, peaking over Sherlock shoulder, "These mushrooms smell awful." He wonders back to the bed.

"They have been liquefying in the dark for five years," Sherlock offers, "Though how you noticed when you kept them next to your trainers, is still a mystery."

"Shut it," he tosses a pillow at Sherlock's head.

Mycroft walks off to his room, wondering just what his brother meant by not being interested. Sherlock was still young however, so he figured there was time for him to figure it out; Mummy always thought Sherlock to be a late bloomer, as it where. Perhaps he merely needed more data before he figured it out.

* * *

><p>BONUS CHAPTER: Firsts<p>

Sherlock: 15

* * *

><p>Sherlock's first kiss was a girl that was mutual friends with some of the kids he associated with. He wouldn't really call them friends; since Jamie and he had that row a while back they mostly tolerated his quiet presences, but never really invited him anywhere. Andrea had a clever sense of humor and Sherlock could actually tolerate her, so through mild persuasion they hung out.<p>

It wasn't even a real date or relationship, she wasn't allowed to date and Sherlock was only doing it for curiosity purposes. The only snogging that ever occurred, after the initial awkward and accidental first kiss, was while they were at school. Naturally Sherlock didn't tell anyone in his family about it, it hardly warranted it anyway.

He was the one to end it, after a month or so; having realized that he had lost interest. The day he had decided to so, was when he was walking home from school. They'd kissed briefly before they left, when an older kid made a comment about it looked like she was trying to suck his face off. It was silly to let a comment like that get to him, but when he mulled it over on his walk he realized it was somewhat valid. Snogging her was never all that enjoyable, he usually walked away having to wipe her saliva off his face and he hated it.

He ignored the entire day following his decision, trying to see if maybe she'd get the hint or he'd figure out exactly how to handle this. Sherlock didn't account for the fact that she'd corner him during a free period.

"Are you mad at me?" Andrea asks bluntly, her hands on her hips.

"No," he replies quietly.

"Well is seems like it," she sighs cautiously, "Maybe I'm going crazy, but you've been ignoring me all day. In fact this is the first time I think you've talked today."

"I was trying to figure something out," Sherlock tells her, "Though we do need to talk."

"Is everything alright?"

"I'm done with this." He tells her earnestly.

"Pardon?" Andrea stares at him with wide eyes, "You're breaking up with me."

"We were not dating," Sherlock replies coolly, masking his confusion at her outburst.

"Not anymore," she snaps, her eyes welling with tears, "They were right about you, Sherlock Holmes…you utter bastard." She huffs, running off to her awaiting friends who hug her while shooting death glares at him.

Sherlock did feel bad for hurting her feelings, but the whole incident was a bit baffling. It provided a good basic knowledge of such things, he just found it hard to fathom that she had formed such a strong emotional attachment so quickly. They only ever saw each other at school and the only thing that was different from the rest of his class mates is that they snogged every so often. If anything, he walked away feeling like the whole endeavor had been a complete waste of his time and he was quite glad he hadn't told anyone outside of school about it. Not like he really would have either way.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	58. Discovery

Inspired by Thea(s) prompt

Sherlock: 17

Mycroft: 24

* * *

><p>It was another one of the Mr. Holmes's business dinners; Mycroft came down at father's instance; sighting that the proper connections could be cultivated to help his new position. Everyone had to be on their best behavior especially Sherlock who could be quite the tumultuous teenager. Mycroft left his parents and a couple of the associates to pop into the kitchen to see how the meal was coming.<p>

"It's almost ready Mycroft dear, do go and fetch your brother will you?" Sylvia asked absently as she put the finishing touches on the meal. "I believe he was giving Mr. Owens a tour."

"Very well," he smiles with fake pleasantry, heading out to search for the young man.

He finds Sherlock and Jack Owens, who was only a little older then Mycroft, in the Library. They were talking in hushed tones, the older man's voice easier to hear then his brother's now deeper timber though he couldn't quite discern what was being said. Mycroft pushed open the door, startling the two; Owens taking a step away from the younger man who was leaning against the desk eyes wide.

"This is a beautiful library," he smirks, running a hand through his hair to feign nonchalance, "Time for dinner already?"

"Yes," Mycroft offers politely while his sharp eyes take in the scene and he shares a look with his brother. "Come along Sherlock, Sylvia was asking for you."

"Very well," Sherlock murmurs, glancing briefly at the other man before joining his brother.

"See you shortly then," Owens offers with a smarmy smirk as they leave the library.

"What was that about?" Mycroft inquires sternly on the way to the kitchen.

"What did it look like?" The younger man challenges.

"I want you to inform me if anything unwarranted occurred in there," Mycroft iterates carefully.

"Don't be dull," Sherlock huffs noncommittally.

"He's a colleague of father's not an experiment."

"Who said anything about an experiment?" Sherlock raises a brow.

"Oh?" He leads the possible underlying admission.

"Don't get excited you'll start to sweat…more" he jibes, "You can't define that which defies explanation, Mycroft."

"Please, you're seventeen dear brother…And hardly as enigmatic as you like to think yourself."

"As if you'd know anything about me," Sherlock snaps, the brothers striding into the kitchen as they bicker.

"You better behave yourself Sherlock," he warns.

"Or what?" he answers in a bored tone, "There's nothing you can do to me."

"No, but father will be cross if you don't behave," Mycroft offers airily.

"As if that's a new development," he rolls his eyes, "Just another important function ruined."

"Stop this childishness Sherly; you bring it upon yourself when you behave in this manner."

"There you boys are," Sylvia bustled into the kitchen, "Everyone's already seated, off you get." She shoos.

The brother's sharing a brief glare then stalking off to join the party in the dining room.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	59. Blood

AN: I started a new story called Let Somebody In so if you're into S/J check it out. (It's the same type of format as this is)

Also, the way I see it for this story and the spin off of Seven Percent and Solutions; Sherlock is mostly asexual. He has tried things and it's not to say he hates sex or anything, it's just unimportant when there's more mentally stimulating things to be set upon... and he finds that labeling sexuality is useless because it's fluid. Anyway...

Inspired by Asymmetrical(s) prompt (Thank you)

Sherlock: 12

Mycroft: 19

* * *

><p>Mycroft arrived home for the weekend, Mummy insisting he spend his birthday at home. He suspected it had more to do with spending time with Sherlock, but he agreed none the less. It was around one in the afternoon that he got home, the house was relatively empty aside from Sylvia who was baking in the kitchen. Sherlock was still at school while mummy had popped out to the shops, father of course working. Coming down the staircase he caught a glimpse of a figure stalking towards the house, peaking out the large window for closer inspection he realized it was Sherlock.<p>

The older Holmes checked his watch in confusion at his presence then opened the front door. Sherlock's bowed head looked up at the sound of the door opening, Mycroft frowning at the smeared and partially dried blood under his brother's nose and the seething look upon his face.

"Sherlock," he states, wanting an explanation for what he was deducing. "What happened?"

The younger boy's frown deepened as he fought to remain stoic under his raging emotions. "I hate school," was all he mustered as Mycroft shepherd him inside.

"Oh my," Sylvia, gasped as the brother's stepped into the kitchen, "You skip off, again dearie?" she frowns, examining him and handing him a wet dish towel to clean up with.

"It was better than the alternative."

"This happen often?" Mycroft questions in concern.

Sherlock doesn't reply sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter as he gingerly cleans the blood away.

"He comes home more frequently every month," Sylvia informs him aside with worry creasing her face. "Won't say why, poor thing," she shakes her head.

Mycroft sits next to his brooding brother, as the housekeeper hands them each a freshly baked sweet giving Sherlock an encouraging wink. "Shout if you hear the buzzer, I have some straightening to do," She lies, leaving to give the brother's alone time.

"Are you being bullied?" Mycroft asks bluntly.

"I wouldn't necessarily say that…" he sighs after a beat.

"Fighting then?"

"It's mostly self-defense…" Sherlock huffs, "This Neanderthal…" he clenches his fists in anger, "It's not on bothering the younger ones, just because you're bigger and your mother is a violent drunk. I don't usually bother, but Jamie got involved because of his cousin and…"

"You divulged your observations," he states in understanding.

"Of course I did, I thought if I exposed him he'd shut up."

"You need to realize that people do not enjoy being called out on such truths."Mycroft informs him.

"But it's the truth, nothing they don't already know and others only have yet to realize."

"Regardless Sherly, there's a time and place."

"People are idiots," Sherlock glares, not caring.

"Indeed," the eldest sighs, "Now does this missing link have a name?"

"It's irrelevant, he's been suspended."

"Oh," Mycroft quirks a brow.

"He was stealing other student's assignments to use as his own," Sherlock informs him, "I figured it out when the scores were posted, there was no way he they could be that high… No one noticed because they were in a normal range, but…"

"Well done," he offers with a smirk, clapping him on the back proudly.

"I should have seen this coming," he pouts, gesturing to his face.

"Violence isn't always predictable…This isn't the reason you've been playing truant thought…" Mycroft leads.

"School's boring," he mumbles picking at a loose thread on the dish towel.

"It's important."

"I suppose," Sherlock sighs, "How long you staying for 'Croft?"

"Only the weekend unfortunately."

"Oh," the younger boy nods in contemplation.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	60. Cupid

Inspired by CharmingKarma(s) prompt (Thank you)

Sherlock: 15

Mycroft: 22

* * *

><p>Mycroft comes home from work and as usual, before bed he logs on to his personal computer to check his private emails and make sure everything is in order for the next day. Logging into his account he's surprised to find over a hundred emails. Opening the inbox he scrolls through the emails, instantly noticing that they're all from some sort of dating site. Knowing full well he never registered for such a thing, he opens one of the emails and is greeted by an image of a scantily clad large chested woman in her forties.<p>

To: MH

Saw your profile, christ you're dishy… I'm surprised no one's snatched ya up yet.

Check out my profile and maybe we can meet up sometime. ;D

Xxx Roxanne

A suspicion forms in his mind after reading the message, deciding to see just what this was all about. He clicks the link that leads to his supposed profile, with a clearly alter photo of him morphed with some sort of celebrity. As he scrolls down the page his frown continues to deepen.

M.H.

Turn on's: Older big women who prefer to stay in and eat sweets, horseback riding on the beach, billowy shirts, rainy day accessories, being pompous, lording over family and friends, voyeurism, puppeteering, smoking.

Turn offs: Intelligence, people who don't just fall at my feet, skinny girls, health food, exercise, fun of any kind, creative pursuits.

About me: I am a loner by nature, some may call me a miserable git; but I then it doesn't matter because I'm rich as well. I thoroughly enjoy stuffing my face and going on fad diets, I'm rich enough for surgery though that's a bit drastic. I am obsessed with my brother who's a brilliant genius and I tend to watch him like the "big brother" I am. If you're into a controlling, lazy, rich, puppet master… click me and we can stay in all night. ;D

"Damn it, Sherlock," Mycroft swears aloud, quickly deleting the profile and ruminating on how to retaliate, or if he should refrain from stooping to such a level.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	61. Phases

Inspired by Emmersons-echo(s) prompt (Thank you) There will prob be a second part to this one...

Sherlock: 14

Mycroft: 21

* * *

><p>Mycroft receives a surprising call from his father on his lunch, "Hullo?"<p>

"Mycroft," the stern voice comes through, "How are you son?"

"Very well, sir," he offers, wondering why his father would be calling.

"Any chance of coming around," Mr. Holmes questions, clearly still pouring over work.

"Everything alright?"

"Yes, yes, everything's fine…" he hums, "Your mother misses you, and well of course there's your brother.

Mycroft can practically see the frown on his father's face, as his own graces his. "What do you mean?"

"Eh, you know teenager things," Mr. Holmes sighs exasperatedly, "To put it plainly, he's becoming downright morose… not to mention the clothing… Anyway, may we expect you for a visit?"

The younger man thinks for a beat, mentally checking his schedule, "I believe I am available."

"Excellent excellent," he hums absently, "Should I have my girl make arrangements?"

"No, no, I'll manage… thank you."

Mycroft arrives before his father, not surprisingly, Madam Holmes descending upon him as soon as he crossed the threshold of the house.

"Mycroft, cher!" She greets him warmly with a tight embrace. "Have you lost weight?" she smiles.

"Might have, mummy," he returns the smile.

"I'm so glad you've come to visit your dear mummy…" Madame Holmes prattles, locking there arms together as she leads him down the hall toward the kitchen.

"Any time," he answers dutifully.

"You're too sweet," she sighs as they enter the kitchen, "Shame you can't make it back too often… Your brother misses you terribly you know."

"How is he?"

"Changing, I suppose," Madame Holmes informs him, "Hasn't said a peep in a month and black seems to be his favorite colour."

"I'm sure it's just a phase mummy."

"You're probably right…" she smiles as the boy in question skulks into the room.

Sherlock's head is bowed with a scowl on his face, large headphones on under the hood of his black jumper with tight black trousers. He doesn't acknowledge anyone as he heads to the fridge and pulls out the orange juice, moving to drink straight from it he finally realizes he's not alone.

"Sherlock, cher," Madame Holmes calls loudly trying unsuccessfully to get through his music. "Look who popped by for the weekend."

He doesn't acknowledge her words, offering only a quirk of his brow before procuring a cup for the juice and then stalks off.

"Honestly," She huffs, picking up the glass her son left behind having taken the carton with him. Holding it out for a beat until the distracted youth strides back into the kitchen to switch it out, "See…" she sighs, "I don't know what's going on in that mind of his, and Jamie hasn't been around in ages."

Dinner is quite the event, Sherlock sitting darkly sans headphones as he pushes his food around defiantly. Mycroft and Mr. Holmes talking about work and such while Madame Holmes diverts her attentions between her sons. Inquiring after Mycroft's life away and trying to get her youngest to either talk or eat, since it seems like both is too much to ask for.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


	62. Phases2

AN: Ok this is a continuation of the previous chapter, but I wrote the wrong ages on that one so the ages below are the correct ages. (Also this is getting ridiculously long, so I may start a new story that will just continue this Brothers 2, if you will... and as always thank you for all the prompts{especially: Tadpole11}, keep it up guys!)

Sherlock: 15

Mycroft: 22

* * *

><p>"Oh before I forget, Brolly," Madame Holmes starts mid bite, "We're having some work done to your old bedroom as well as the guest rooms, you don't mind sharing with your brother while the paint dries."<p>

"Not at all," he offers politely, though with some trepidation.

"No," Sherlock blurts darkly as if he forgot his vow of silence, his family starring at him as if surprised he can still talk.

"Now, Sherlock, it's not the end of the world and there's plenty of room," Mummy scolds.

"Don't even think about leaving until you finished that," Mr. Holmes points with his fork, catching his youngest intent to storm off. Sherlock pouts for a beat starring at his plate as if it committed crimes against him.

It's close to midnight when Madame Holmes comes down to rescue her youngest from the dining room table. The teen awake, but immobile in front of the food diagram he created out of his meal instead of eating it. "Bed," she instructs, picking up the plate with a sigh as he runs off to his room.

When Sherlock gets to his room, Mycroft is propped up on the spare mattress reading a book by the light of the fire. "Mummy rescue you?" he drawls without looking up, the younger man making a rude gesture at his chuckling brother before stomping off to change for bed. "Good night Sherlock," Mycroft offers as he turns out the lights. The room falls dark and silent, the older man on the verge of sleep when the silence is shattered.

"'Croft?" He squeaks quietly.

"Hmm…" Mycroft snuffles sleepily.

"Do you have friends?"

"Everyone has friends," he murmurs, as he takes in the question.

"That's not true," Sherlock's voice cracks.

"So that's why you've been silent," He smirks, "Puberty is common Sherlock; surely you're not the only one whose voice cracks." The younger brother lobs a pillow hitting him square in the face, "That was uncalled for."

"Answer my question."

"I did, I have very useful friends… Now what is this about?" Mycroft waits a beat before remembering the start of term, "You did patch things up with Jamie, didn't you?"

"Never mind," he replies, turning over and feigning sleep.

"You'll make more friends brother," Mycroft informs him, knowing full well his brother is not asleep. "And you'll always have me, no matter what," he adds.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for the prompts etc! Please keep it up, chances are I'll use it... any and all ideas are welcomed for the brothers, vague or detailed (doesn't matter).<p>

Just don't forget to mention ages and such, since this is random bits of the brothers relationship. (keep in mind they are 7 years apart.)

Also check out the spin off story from Chapter 9 called Seven Percent (THANKS!)

:)REVIEW(:


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